


The Never Ending Sacrifice; A Garak/Bashir Mystery

by LaDemonessa



Series: The Garak/Bashir Mysteries [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, The Garak/Bashir Mysteries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:00:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 96,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDemonessa/pseuds/LaDemonessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Third installment of the Garak and Bashir Mysteries. Garak is settling into his new role on Deep Space Nine and looking forward to formalizing his relationship with Julian Bashir. Problems arise after Garak begins to notice some inconsistencies and he starts to suspect that life isn't going to be handing him a happy ending after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything You Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Charlene was the driving force behind Sinless, the second installment in this series, so I asked her to co-author Never Ending Sacrifice with me. Her stories featuring Julian have always impressed me. Her portrayal of him as being strong yet sensitive and masculine yet yielding is a theme she brings to every story she writes. I wrote the Garak moments, she wrote the Julian ones and we met in the middle when they came together. I want to thank her first off for her help and friendship. I also want to dedicate my part in  
> this story to two other people: First, to Judith, a.k.a. OdoGoddess, whose expertise in Founder canon gave us many ideas for the plot of this story. It was much appreciated. Secondly, to Fred. He passed away  
> while we wrote this story and I would like to take a moment out to remember him. IDIC, my friend. Into infinity.-Jen
> 
> Author's Note: I hate writing author's notes. I never have anything to say. Okay...thank you to Jen for creating the Garak and Bashir Mysteries, and thank you for writing Elim Garak so well. She has a knack of making the enigmatic, nebulous Elim Garak into a real tangible, sympathetic character who still carries that air of mystery and dissimulation. She's also brilliant with plotting, and has a knack of kicking me in the arse from 2,222.22 miles away. I'd like to dedicate my part in this to Fred as well. I never met you in person, you old dawg, but I wish I had. -Charlene

The Never Ending Sacrifice; A Garak/Bashir Mystery

By JA Ingram and Charlene Vickers

******

Chapter One: Everything You Ever Wanted

******

He huddled under the thin blanket and willed himself not to shiver.

It wasn't because he was freezing in the cramped, dank, bitterly cold  
isolation chamber, he told himself, or even because he had been  
dragged away from his cell and pitched into the tank like a bale of  
hay.

Simply put, Julian Bashir was terrified.

He had spent his first ten weeks in the camp trying to keep Enabran  
Tain alive long enough for him to complete the modifications to the  
life support module that would let them get a distress signal out to  
the Alpha Quadrant. Ten weeks of arguing with the man, fighting with  
him, forcing him to take the drugs Bashir had stolen from the  
Jem'Hadar. Ten weeks of praying Tain would finish the modifications  
before he died. Now Bashir had been locked away for almost a month,  
unable to steal or administer the drugs Tain needed to remain alive.

And Tain was their only hope. Kalenna, the Romulan pilot, had told him  
that her planet had given the Romulan prisoners up for dead. Bashir  
knew that the Klingons had suffered far too many losses to afford the  
luxury of a rescue mission. So it had to be the Cardassians or the  
Federation, but without Tain's transmitter there was no way to let  
either know they had even been captured. And if Tain didn't survive  
long enough to finish it, they'd likely spend the rest of their short  
lives in this prison.

The only escape is death, the Hadar First had said.

He wasn't about to let that happen.

As he looked up at the patch of light shining through the hole in the  
steel door, he wondered idly if anyone on Deep Space Nine had noticed  
the substitution. Nobody had told him that a shapeshifter had replaced  
him, of course, but after meeting General Martok it didn't take a  
genetically enhanced genius to figure it out. Perhaps Odo had noticed,  
or maybe Garak...

He sighed. Tain kept repeating that Garak would come for him if only  
he could get a message out. 'Garak will find us', he kept saying, as  
if it were a foregone conclusion that the man Tain exiled and almost  
let die from the wire would drop everything and run to save him. He  
couldn't not come, Tain had said, but he had never said why, and  
Julian wondered what hold the old man thought he had on Garak.

No, what scared him the most wasn't dying here. His greatest fear was  
that his very survival depended on two men he couldn't trust.

Not for the first time, he wished that he could have allowed himself  
to become closer to Garak. He'd wanted to get to know him better when  
they'd first met, had even thought about approaching him - but at the  
time it had seemed impossible. The tailor was a sharp man, a deviously  
intelligent former operative who wouldn't have allowed himself to  
initiate a relationship with Bashir without investigating him  
thoroughly. It likely wouldn't have taken Garak more than a few days  
to learn about his enhancements, and then where would he have been?  
Would Garak have tried to blackmail him? Would he have told Sisko in  
hopes Bashir would become an exile dependent upon him? No, he had  
thought: no matter how attractive the Cardassian was, no matter how  
much he longed to know him as more than just a casual friend, he could  
never cross that line.

Or that was what he had told himself when he was safe, warm, and  
comfortable. Now Bashir lay in an isolation cell in a prison in the  
depths of Dominion space, wondering if the man he had never trusted  
enough to let into his life was his only hope. Maybe Garak cared  
enough about Tain enough to risk his life on a rescue mission, but he  
doubted Garak would bother if he had been the sole prisoner.

After all, who was Julian Bashir to Elim Garak?

******

"Have you asked him yet?"

"No."

"Do you want me to ask for you?"

Garak gave his lover a withering glare. "I am perfectly capable of  
asking the man myself, Julian."

Julian shrugged. "I was just offering. Besides, it's been over a month  
since we announced our engagement and you've seen him how many times  
since then and you haven't asked him yet."

Garak gritted his teeth. "I'll ask him today."

"After the staff meeting?"

He sighed. "Fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes!" Garak said, irritated. "You're going to make us late."

Julian hurried ahead of Garak as they walked toward Ops. "You're just  
mad because you don't want to do it."

"I want to do it, Julian. I just..."

The doctor looked at him curiously. "Just what?"

"I just have no idea how to...go about it," Garak admitted reluctantly.

"And you kept saying I had cold feet," Julian snorted.

"I don't have cold feet! I just-!"

"Doctor, Garak."

Garak looked at Odo as he walked past them into the conference room.  
"Good morning, Constable."

"Morning, Odo." Julian smiled.

The changeling nodded at them both then took his seat at the table.  
Julian turned to Garak and whispered, "Go ask him."

"Not...now," Garak said hesitantly. "After the meeting."

"You're sure?"

Garak rolled his eyes. "Yes, Julian, I'm sure. Now may we please go sit down?"

"Yes, gentlemen, can we? And I would prefer we do it sooner than later."

Julian and Garak looked behind them to the captain who was staring at  
them with a slightly disapproving expression on his face.

"Sorry, sir," Julian apologized; they took their places next to one  
another at the conference table as the rest of the senior crew filed  
in for the morning meeting.

As the staff meeting got under way, Garak looked around the table in  
fascination. He still had a hard time believing any of this was really  
happening. Just 115 days ago he was a Cardassian exile who was reduced  
to knocking on the door of his one friend on the station so he could  
borrow the doctor's replicator. Now, not only was he a member of  
Captain Sisko's staff, but he and Julian were going to be married.

If someone had told him that he'd be sitting here three months ago, he  
would have accused them of being insane. It was strange how  
drastically life could change from one simple decision. What if he had  
just gone to the Replimat that night? None of this ever would have  
happened. Absolutely mind-boggling, Garak mused.

Major Kira was giving her report and Garak looked at her uniform  
critically. She had given birth just two weeks ago and was quickly  
getting her figure back but still had to wear the modified maternity  
uniform which was rather unflattering. Perhaps after the meeting he'd  
offer to don his tailor persona once more and design something a  
little less hideous for her to wear. They weren't really friends but  
if he had to look at her in that burnt orange and crimson monstrosity  
much longer he would tear his own eyes out.

Garak sighed. And to think that he had once thought the Starfleet  
uniforms were bad. For that matter, who could have predicted that  
eventually he'd be required to wear one himself? Not for at least  
another seven to ten months, he conceded silently, but as soon as his  
final hearing was scheduled he'd be given a rank comparable to the  
position he occupied now as a civilian contractor and his very own  
Starfleet uniform.

Oh joy.

And it was going to have a mustard yellow undershirt, he grimaced.

He had lobbied for the command burgundy, but technically his job was  
designated as tactical so he was stuck with the yellow that made him  
look sallow and slightly green.

The Starfleet officer assigned to his case told him that given his  
military background and expertise in intelligence and  
counter-intelligence, he would begin his rank as a lieutenant, the  
lowest grade comparable to his experience level. That at least was  
something to be grateful for. He also would not be required to go  
through the Academy. He was given exemption status because of his age  
and because he had already been a member of the Cardassian military.  
This had been especially welcome news to Garak. The idea of being the  
universe's oldest living cadet did not appeal to him in the slightest.  
He and Julian were going to be the same rank, yet another bonus, but  
it also made him even more determined to rise within the chain of  
command as quickly as possible.

The idea of his lover having to salute him and say 'sir' in bed was an  
extremely motivating concept. He hadn't had a whole lot of time to  
dwell on such pleasant daydreams, however.

A lot had happened since he and Julian had gotten back from Bajor  
after investigating the murder of a young woman named Kel Sinles. Odo  
had lost his shapeshifting ability for a time before getting it back  
the same day the Major gave birth to Miles and Keiko O'Brien's son,  
Garak had gone on an impromptu away mission into the past with Odo,  
Dax, and Captain Sisko, and the Cardassian-Klingon War was in full  
swing.

In the midst of all that were the numerous meetings and interviews  
with Starfleet Intelligence and Bajoran Social Services, as well as  
three criminal proceedings in which he was a key witness. Colonel  
Ranol, the military extremist turned drug kingpin, had been sentenced  
to 30 years in a Federation penal colony for trafficking followed by  
another 25 years on Bajor for the attempted assassination of one of  
the Bajoran civilian leaders. Krath Rushka, the (now former) wife of  
Representative Krath Milnar, had received 15 years in a Bajoran prison  
for her part in the conspiracy that led to the death of Kel Sinles.  
Hali Tafan, the woman who actually killed Sinles, had been found  
guilty of second-degree murder, conspiracy, evidence tampering,  
assault, and a slew of other charges that had earned her a life  
sentence without the possibility of parole.

He'd hardly seen Julian in more than a month. He certainly hadn't been  
able to find time to help plan their wedding. Despite Julian wanting  
to get married quickly without a long engagement to worry about, it  
was not turning out that way. The closest they had come to scheduling  
an actual date was some time after he was officially a member of  
Starfleet, which meant they might have to wait as long as a year. If  
his schedule remained this hectic, even with a year to plan, he'd  
still be behind on his share of the wedding preparations. Meanwhile,  
every time Garak had found just a little time to rest and relax,  
Julian came up with yet another thing for him to do.

If he didn't know better he'd swear that Julian was trying to drive  
him to distraction.

He stifled a yawn as Chief O'Brien started his report on station  
repairs and maintenance schedules. Oh well, he thought, better get  
used to it. This is your life now. They had gotten word last week that  
his Federation Citizenship might be approved within the next month or  
so; now all he had left was two dozen more PADDs of information to  
fill out before he was officially a member of Starfleet.

It wasn't an exaggeration.

Every spare moment of the day and night had been spent tapping on a  
damned PADD. Between that and his duties as a civilian contractor with  
Starfleet Intelligence, there were the staff meetings, the briefings  
on Cardassian military strategy, and the psychological and medical  
evaluations needed to prove he was fit for duty.

To make matters worse, Julian was still insisting that they maintain  
separate quarters until after the wedding. He had spoken with Julian's  
mother a few times by subspace but they had yet to meet face to face.  
Personally, Garak thought that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her,  
but he understood that maintaining separate living space was a way of  
honoring her beliefs so he didn't say anything.

Also, there was the matter of Lewin and Kela's first visit to the  
station next month. It was the policy of Bajoran Child Services to  
have the prospective family spend time together before the final  
adoption proceedings. He had moved into the married quarters that  
Julian and he were going to share after the wedding with the intention  
of using his spare time to get the children's rooms ready but he  
hadn't had any time yet. He hadn't even had time to make them any  
clothes since he sold his shop. This weekend he intended to take some  
time off, barring any unexpected complications such as time-travel,  
hostile alien forces, or oversexed pheromone-spewing women overrunning  
the station and wreaking havoc.

Again, not an exaggeration.

Every once in a while, though, Julian would come over to his quarters  
and spend at least part of the night making it all worthwhile. They  
rarely even had time for their lunches anymore, but at least once a  
week Julian would come to his door with a smile and an armload of  
take-out from one of the restaurants on the Promenade and he'd set all  
of his worries and responsibilities aside for a while. Soon, very  
soon, they'd be past all of this and life would settle down.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

On this station one could never be sure.

"Mr. Garak, do you have anything to add to Mr. Worf's report?"

Garak looked up at Sisko and pasted a friendly smile on his face,  
which he hoped would give the Captain the impression he had been  
listening to every word that was said. He'd been so caught up in his  
own thoughts that he hadn't noticed that the Chief had sat down and  
Worf had finished talking about the upgrades he'd made to the Defiant.  
"No, sir. The only thing I have to report is that Starfleet  
Intelligence is asking me to continue monitoring transmissions and  
deciphering code from the sector of the Gamma quadrant where the  
Cardassian ships disappeared even though nothing has come of it. Just  
some faint garbled transmissions, which for all we know could be from  
something as innocuous as an old Cardassian planetary survey." Garak  
rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Frankly, there's nothing out  
there and Starfleet knows it but they want us to keep looking just in  
case."

"It's not like you to give up so soon, Garak," Julian said pointedly.  
"If Starfleet thinks there's even the slightest chance of finding  
survivors we need to keep looking."

"Julian's right, Garak," Commander Dax broke in. "We don't know what  
happened to them. They could still be alive."

"Doubtful." Garak shook his head. "Even my handler at Starfleet  
Intelligence sent down word that they are officially closing the  
investigation next week. I can't see the use in monitoring the  
transmissions if there's no ongoing investigation. Frankly, Captain,  
my services would be put to much better use if I just concentrated on  
the work I'm doing concerning the Cardassian/Klingon hostilities. I've  
also been monitoring some interesting communiqués from the Romulans.  
This-" and he waved his hand over his PADD, "-garbled mess is a waste  
of time."

"I tend to concur with Mr. Garak," Worf said. "We need to concentrate  
all of our resources on the situation between the Klingon Empire,  
Cardassia and the Romulans and what role the Dominion has in all of  
it."

"I'm still conducting weekly blood screenings for all the crew and  
there's no sign that any Founders have infiltrated the station,  
Captain," Julian said. "It could be that they've decided to  
concentrate their focus elsewhere for the time. If that's true, then  
it means the security measures we've put into place are working. I can  
see Commander Worf's point but I'd still like to see us try to find  
those survivors if there are any. It just - I hate to give up so soon,  
sir."

Sisko paused for a minute before speaking. "As much as I hate to  
concede defeat, Doctor, we have more important matters that concern us  
now. Keep monitoring the signals for a few more days and I'll talk to  
Starfleet Headquarters about rescinding the order early. Commander  
Worf, try to boost the signal by taking the Defiant out as close as  
you can to our listening post; maybe something will come out of it. In  
the meantime, Mr. Garak, consider this assignment low priority until  
we come up with something a little more substantial. Does anyone have  
anything more to add to the meeting?" He looked around the table  
carefully. "In that case, I would like to be the first to congratulate  
Mr. Garak on becoming a citizen of the Federation."

Garak looked up in surprise.

Sisko continued with a smile, "I was sent word this morning that your  
application was finally approved and that we can schedule the  
swearing-in ceremony at our earliest convenience. I hope you don't  
mind me taking liberties, but I thought that this Saturday would be  
perfect."

Garak looked to Julian who was grinning from ear to ear, then turned  
back to the captain. "I don't know what to say. This is...I  
just...does this have any effect on the scheduling of the final  
hearing for my Starfleet commission?"

"I imagine it will," the captain nodded. "Command wants to see you in  
a uniform just as badly as we do. When I asked about your hearing they  
told me it was already on the fast track. You'll be wearing tactical  
gold before you know it."

Julian reached under the table and squeezed his hand silently.

"At least now you won't be able to bitch about the uniforms any more,"  
O'Brien snickered. "You're gonna be stuck in 'em with the rest of us."

"They're starting to grow on me," Garak conceded. "Of course, I will  
be having mine altered a bit. A little fine tailoring goes a long  
way."

"Never thought I'd see the day when I'd have to salute a Cardie,"  
O'Brien said without rancor. "I still say they should have made you an  
enlisted man. I could use someone to swab the lower pylons."

"I'll keep that in mind." Garak said in a mildly threatening tone.

"So I guess this means you'll be moving up the date of the wedding?"  
Jadzia asked with sparkling eyes.

"Looks like it," Julian said, giving Garak a pointed look and  
thrusting his chin toward Odo slightly.

Garak sighed. Damn.

"Well, with that out of the way, let's bring this meeting to a close.  
Have a good day, everyone," Sisko said as he got up from his chair.

As the meeting began to break up, Julian poked him a little. "Do it  
now before you lose your nerve."

Garak tightened his mouth in a thin line. "You say that as if you  
think I'm afraid of him or something."

"Are you going to do it or what?" Julian said, not taking the bait.

"Oh, very well," Garak snapped peevishly. The things one does for  
love. "Constable, a moment please?"

"What is it, Garak?" Odo asked in his patented growl which could mean  
he was bored, irritated or both. Garak guessed that in this case it  
was both.

"I...have to ask you something," he said reluctantly.

"What is it?" It wasn't said as a question as much as it was an  
implied accusation.

"Are you familiar with Terran nuptial practices?"

Odo stepped back a little and looked at Garak as though a bug were  
crawling on his uniform. "No. Should I be?"

Garak glanced over at Julian who was holding his thumb up in some  
absurd attempt at encouragement. He turned back to Odo. "Apparently,  
they require that you provide a witness to the...event."

"Like in a court proceeding?" Odo asked dubiously.

"I believe it's more along the lines of the second at a duel," Garak  
answered with a grimace. "Julian informs me that if we are to be  
married that I must ask someone to become something called the 'vested  
man'."

"I would have to wear a vest?" Odo asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Everyone does, I think. He showed me a holoimage once. I believe the  
witness wears one of a different color or something." Garak shook his  
head and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, Julian has asked the Chief to be  
his vested man."

"And that has what to do with me exactly?" Odo asked slowly.

"I'm supposed to ask someone as well."

"You want me to be a witness at your marital duel?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Garak gritted his teeth. "I'm supposed to ask a friend to...wear the vest."

"And you're asking me?" Odo looked at him as though he were insane.

Which I will be if I have to go through this much longer, Garak  
thought to himself. "Frankly, yes."

"We're not friends."

"I know."

"In fact," Odo said coolly, "we're probably the furthest thing from friends."

"I realize this."

"So why me?"

"Because," Garak said as patiently as he could, "other than Julian,  
you and Quark are the only two men I know who I could even remotely  
consider 'friends'."

"Me and Quark?" Odo repeated. "And of the two of us I'm the least  
likely to ask for payment for services rendered as a 'vested man',  
correct?"

"I considered that fact, yes."

Odo paused, "Are any weapons involved in this nuptial duel?"

Garak thought about that for a moment. "I don't know. Possibly." He  
scratched behind his ear, "I'll have to ask. I doubt it, though;  
Terrans are a lot less bloodthirsty than Klingons."

"And what exactly do the duties of the vested man entail?" Odo ventured.

Garak glanced over to Julian who was in an animated conversation with  
Lt. Commander Dax. Just when he could use some real help...

"I don't have all the details but I believe that you are supposed to  
stand beside me and hand me a piece of jewelry."

"Jewelry." Odo took a moment to absorb that information. "Do I have to  
purchase it myself?"

"No. Julian buys my ring and I buy his," Garak answered.

"Why can't you buy your own?" Odo asked.

"I don't know. I think it's a gift like a Bajoran betrothal earring."

"And I take this ring and hand it to you. Then what?"

"I hand it to Julian."

"Why can't you just hand it to him all by yourself?" Odo asked in confusion.

Garak blinked. "I'm not really sure. It must have some cultural  
significance I'm not familiar with. It does seem rather inefficient,  
though."

"So that's all there is to it. I hand you a ring that you're just  
going to hand to the doctor. Does he then pass it to Chief O'Brien?"

"No," Garak said, searching his memory. Julian had seemed a bit fuzzy  
on the details himself and he hadn't been able to research it on his  
own. "He keeps the ring I give him and then the Chief hands him the  
ring he purchased for me and after we repeat some ancient phrase or  
another, we wear the rings to signify that we are legally bonded."

"Nothing else?"

"I believe the vested man is required to give a speech or something  
and then there's some sort of ceremony between both the vested  
witnesses."

"What kind of ceremony?"

"Well, you have to place a tourniquet around Chief O'Brien's leg, I believe."

"I thought you said there were no weapons used in the ceremony," Odo  
asked sharply.

"There aren't as far as I know."

"Then is there a ritual bloodletting or something?" he asked.

"No, they just place the tourniquet around the witness's thigh for  
decorative purposes, I believe," Garak answered. "Odo, I really have  
to get to work. Do you want to be the vested man or should I ask  
Quark?"

Odo appeared to consider it. "Very well, I will be a witness, I  
suppose. I will ask around and research the matter myself and get back  
to you on the particulars."

"Good." Garak breathed a sigh of relief. He'd had wounds that were less painful.

"Good day, then," Odo said, nodding as he moved toward the turbolifts.

"Good day," Garak returned grimly. If planning for the rest of this  
wedding was this excruciating he was going to suggest that they just  
elope.

"Did he say yes?" Julian said, walking over to him with a cheery grin.

"He did," Garak answered glumly.

"Great! I have to go to the Infirmary." He gave Garak a flirtatious  
wink. "I'll see you later then."

Garak perked up. Perhaps today wouldn't be a total loss. "I can't wait."

As Julian headed off Garak walked over toward Commander Dax's console.

Maybe he'd ask the captain if he could start his weekend early. He  
smiled slightly; he had a feeling that the day was only going to get  
better from this point on.

******

He startled awake as the door to his cell suddenly clanged open. "Get  
in," the Jem'Hadar Second snarled; Bashir rolled backwards just in  
time to avoid being crushed by a falling General Martok.

The Second threw in a dermal regenerator and a bone knitter. "Fix him.  
I will return in thirty minutes." The door slammed shut.

Blinking his sleep away, he sat up and assessed Martok. His left ankle  
was bent backwards unnaturally, and he was (as far as he could tell in  
the dim light) holding his right arm at an uncomfortable angle. "I see  
the shoulder and the leg," he told Martok. "Is there anything else?"

"My jaw," the Klingon replied through clenched teeth.

Bashir felt for the fracture then went to work on the mandible,  
holding the bone in the correct position as he ran the knitter over  
it. "Any news?" he whispered after he tested the bone and found it  
sound.

Martok glanced up at the window in Julian's door, then nodded. "Tain's  
still alive," he said under his breath.

Bashir nodded. "I have to set the leg. Prepare yourself."

The general grunted but didn't flinch as Bashir yanked on his foot to  
straighten the leg, then twisted his ankle until the bones were  
aligned. He must be in agony, Bashir thought as he ran the knitter  
over the fracture, but trust a Klingon to ignore the pain and let the  
doctor get on with the job. "And the work?" he asked quietly.

"Kalenna tried to complete it," Martok replied, "but her wiring was  
wrong, or something...I don't have a clue-"

Bashir smiled in the dark.

"-but Tain thinks the message was garbled," Martok continued. "He's  
working on repairing it as we speak."

That was good news, but he needed to get a message to the station.  
"Tell Tain," he whispered into the general's ear as he moved up to his  
shoulder and palpated the injury, "to include in the message the fact  
that I've been replaced. God knows what that Founder's been up to."

"I'll tell him," Martok said, unable to hold back a groan as Bashir  
popped the head of his right humerus back into the shoulder joint.  
"He's still muttering that Garak will come, that he has to come. Who  
is this Garak, and who is he to Tain?"

Julian ran the knitter over the shoulder (for all the good it would  
do; he really needed a cartilage regenerator to repair the damage). "A  
friend. He lives on the station. How long have I been in here?" he  
asked as he looked up at the window.

"Twenty-eight days."

He snorted. "Seems longer than that." He was about to ask something  
else when the door opened again.

"Get up," the Second snarled at Martok as another Hadar snatched the  
tools from Bashir.

Martok rose to his feet, his face fixed into a sneer as he glared at  
the Second, then passed by him into the hallway. The Second returned  
his glare before slamming down a bowl and cup in front of Bashir.

He slowly reached for the food, famished but not willing to admit any  
weakness to the Hadar. As the door closed behind Martok and as Bashir  
began to shovel in the tasteless gruel, he thought of Garak, and hoped  
Tain's message would get through.

******

The Defiant was running well that day and the Romulan cloaking device  
was no longer causing as serious a power drain on the energy reserves  
as it had been before he made the repairs.

As Worf piloted the ship toward the listening post, he subdued the bit  
of frustration he felt at having to carry out such a fruitless task.  
Personally, the loss of the Cardassian soldiers didn't really disturb  
him that much. War was war, and in battle lives were lost. If they had  
been taken hostage by the Dominion, so be it. It wasn't his call to  
make, however. He had his orders and he'd carry them out to the  
letter. That didn't mean he'd have to like it.

Cardassians had no honor, Worf thought to himself not for the first  
time. Garak was the closest thing he'd seen to an honorable Cardassian  
and even that was questionable at times. He still found the idea of  
Garak becoming a member of Starfleet more than a little disturbing.  
Again, though, this was his personal opinion and not something he  
cared to share with anyone, not even Jadzia. She knew, of course, that  
he wasn't enthused about having to work with Garak on a daily basis,  
but she was convinced that once the former-spy donned the Starfleet  
uniform they would become brothers-in-arms.

Perhaps. He would show Garak the respect he deserved and earned, but  
it would always bother him somewhat. When Jadzia pointed out to him  
that many of his fellow officers had similar feelings about working  
with a Klingon, he had said nothing. There was a difference, he argued  
internally. He had been raised on a Terran colony by humans. Yet, he  
was still a Klingon and very proud of his heritage. Jadzia had even  
accused him on more than one occasion of being a conservative version  
of a Klingon, all honor and nobility and no passion: he was what he  
was, though. Garak, however, was a Cardassian raised by Cardassians. A  
man loyal to the military state for many years, and despite being an  
exile he had proved over and over again through the years that he  
still loved his home and would die for it.

That a man could suddenly change his mind and accept a new home and  
adopt new loyalties so quickly bothered him. It didn't seem, for lack  
of a better word, honorable. He understood the concept behind it;  
Garak was supposedly in love with Dr. Bashir but he didn't quite  
accept that. He loved Jadzia but he wasn't going to declare himself a  
Trill and be fitted for a symbiont. If Garak was doing this then there  
had to be some sort of dubious reasoning behind it. If he was genuine,  
then he still wasn't comfortable with it.

A man who could change his loyalties so quickly and completely was not  
to be trusted.

As he neared the listening post, he began to pick up a message. He  
looked at it. It was a text in the same code Garak had unsuccessfully  
attempted to decipher earlier, but this one wasn't garbled. The signal  
wasn't very strong, but it was just strong enough. He increased the  
gain on his sensors and downloaded the message. Suddenly, it cut off.

Worf attempted to regain the signal, but it was gone.

After an hour of attempting to figure out a way to recapture the  
signal he turned the Defiant back toward Deep Space Nine.

He couldn't read what the code said, but he had a feeling it wasn't a  
Cardassian planetary survey as Garak had facetiously hypothesized.

Whatever it was, he had to get it back to the station as quickly as possible.

******

"What does it say?"

Garak looked at Sisko, who was examining his reaction to the  
transmission curiously. He hadn't bothered to hide his shock to the  
other men. Perhaps this meant he was beginning to trust them, he  
thought muzzily, then pushed the thought aside. It wasn't the time for  
introspection.

Tain.

Tain was alive and a prisoner of the Dominion.

"It's...from Enabran Tain, my mentor from the Obsidian Order," Garak  
said slowly. "He sent it specifically to me."

"Are you sure?" the Captain asked. "I thought he died in when his ship  
was destroyed."

"If anyone could survive under those circumstances it would be Enabran  
Tain. This code is only known to two people and Tain is the one who  
taught it to me." He swallowed, remembering the last time he had seen  
the complex code. He was ten years old and sitting in Enabran Tain's  
office. He made Garak practice the symbols over and over again until  
he dreamed in code.

He hadn't seen those particular symbols in forty years, but he could  
read the message as easily as he could read Kardasi or Standard.

"What does it say?" Worf asked in his low baritone.

Garak took a breath. "It says, 'ALIVE', and then it is repeated  
several times as though the message was in a loop or stuck."

"That's all?" the captain asked, his eyebrows knitting together in deep thought.

"No." Garak's eyes grew hard. "At the tail end there is some garbling  
and then the message clears up again. It says that a Founder has  
replaced someone here on the station."

"Who?" Worf asked in a near growl.

"It just reads, 'Founder-DS9-Replaced-' then nothing." Garak looked  
Worf in the eye. "You couldn't get any more of the message?"

"I remained at the listening post for more than an hour but there was  
nothing," Worf said gravely. He turned to the captain, "I will go  
back. Perhaps there is more to the message."

"No," Garak said, his expression troubled as he turned the information  
over and over in his mind.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Worf asked, his face dark with outrage.  
"This Tain is your teacher. You would just abandon him?"

"I have no intention of abandoning anyone, Mr. Worf," Garak responded  
coldly. "I do, however, believe in using my brain. If you rush off  
again to that listening post in the Defiant you'll alert the Founder  
that you've discovered something and that could create a scenario  
which could lead the Dominion to initialize a pre-emptive strike."

"What do you want to do, Garak?" Sisko asked.

Garak turned toward the captain. There was genuine respect behind the  
way the question was asked. These humans never ceased to surprise him.  
"This message, even though it is only four words long, tells us  
several things about our current situation. First, Tain is alive and  
being held somewhere with a member of our crew. We know this because  
he wouldn't have wasted what little resources he had by placing it in  
the message if it wasn't true. Second, we know the Founder is a member  
of the senior staff."

"How can you surmise that from a message that consists only four  
words?" Worf asked skeptically.

Garak raised an eyeridge at the Klingon while adopting the expression  
of a professor speaking to a particularly dim student. "It's a  
question of tactics and logic. If you were a Founder and could emulate  
anyone on this station, you would choose someone who was within the  
power structure. This means that the Founder is either you, me, the  
captain, Kira, the Chief, or Julian."

"You're leaving off Odo and Dax," Sisko pointed out.

"Founders won't harm their own and Odo would not allow a fellow  
changeling to infiltrate his offices without a fight. Commander Dax is  
a Trill. Founders seem to have trouble understanding the complexity of  
her species," Garak answered brusquely. "I know I'm not a Founder,  
obviously. You know it as well because I translated this message for  
you. Worf brought the message back so I'm willing to take a gamble and  
say he has not been replaced."

"And me?" Sisko asked, eyeing Garak warily.

"For some reason the Prophets have a particular attraction to you,"  
Garak said after a pause. "I suspect that if a Founder attempted to  
kill or capture you they would intervene as they have in other  
situations."

"I understand what you are saying and your logic appears sound," Sisko  
said, his voice hard. "Then again, if you were the Founder you'd, of  
course, come up with a logical reason as to why I should trust you. I  
don't know that you really translated that message correctly, now do  
I?"

"True," Garak said easily, "Just like I can't be sure the Prophets  
haven't decided to abandon you or just like neither one of us can be  
sure that Mr. Worf didn't fake his flight path and pretend to collect  
this text stream from our listening post."

Worf looked from one man to the other, his eyes guarded. He reached  
for the ceremonial blade in his sash and cut open his hand, allowing  
the blood to drip to the floor. He held out his hand to both men. "I  
am not a changeling." He handed the blade to Garak, eyeing him with  
distrust. "Prove yourself."

Garak met Worf's gaze steadily. Without breaking eye contact, he took  
the blade and sliced open his hand. He resisted the urge to flinch and  
showed him the wound. "Not red like yours, Mr. Worf, but still blood.  
Disappointed?"

Worf didn't answer him, instead turning his gaze to the captain. Garak  
held out the blade silently.

Sisko looked at them both for a long moment then took the proffered  
weapon, cutting into the fatty part of his palm. He hissed, "Damn,"  
holding up his hand for a moment then walking around to his desk to  
open the bottom drawer. He hauled out a small first-aid kit and tossed  
out a box of gauze after grabbing a few for himself. "Do me a favor  
and try not to bleed on the carpet."

The men staunched their wounds as the captain passed around the small  
dermal regenerator. "Well, since we've settled that, now what?"

"We surmise who is the most likely candidate to be the Founder from  
our suspect pool," Garak answered, rubbing the red, itchy skin where  
the cut had healed.

"The major gave birth two weeks ago," Sisko answered first out. "A  
Founder couldn't gestate and give birth to a human infant, I suspect."

"Two weeks is long enough for her to have been replaced," Worf argued.

Sisko considered that. "Still, Dr. Bashir and Chief O'Brien seem to be  
the most logical targets for the Founder to choose from. Dr. Bashir  
conducts the blood screenings and the Chief has access to every system  
on the station."

"It's not Julian," Garak said in a voice that was hard and definite.

"Garak, we have to keep an open mind..." Sisko began.

"It's not Julian," Garak repeated. "I know because-" he flushed  
slightly, "-in our intimate moments together Julian has proven time  
and time again that he is very human."

"Oh," Sisko said simply, averting his eyes.

"I do not understand." Worf frowned. "What do you mean he has proven himself?"

Garak rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. Klingons. "He has semen  
and sweat. I've seen and 'examined' both of those fluids personally."

"Oh." Now it was Worf's turn to be embarrassed, not to mention a bit  
green around the gills.

Sisko cleared his throat nervously. "I don't doubt that you truly  
believe the doctor is himself, but other than those  
particular...'fluids', have you ever seen him bleed?"

Garak gave him a scathing look. "Contrary to the rumors you may have  
heard, not all Cardassians need to bite chunks out of their partner's  
flesh in order to complete orgasm."

"I meant no disrespect," Sisko said calmly. "I merely have to ask;  
have you seen him bleed?"

Garak paused. "No."

"He's still on the suspect list."

"How many Founders do you know that have sweat or semen?" Garak  
argued. "If they can't bleed then obviously they can't do those things  
either."

"I'll admit that it's a low possibility that the doctor is the  
Founder, but it is still a possibility," the captain answered in a  
tone that would brook no further argument. "He stays out of the loop  
on this and that's an order."

"Understood," Garak said stiffly.

"And Jadzia?" Worf asked.

Sisko shook his head. "No one but us three can know about this. It  
stays between us."

Both men gave their assent.

"We are all in agreement that the doctor is a suspect, but not a  
likely candidate for being the Founder. He should be watched but we  
should concentrate our suspicions elsewhere. That means the Founder is  
either Kira or the Chief, with the Chief being the more likely of the  
two to have been compromised. How do you want to play this?"

Garak took a breath. "I have a few ideas about that, actually."

"Mind sharing them with the rest of us?" Sisko asked in a droll tone of voice.

"How long before the afternoon staff debriefing?"

******

He winced as yet another body slammed into the other side of the wall.

From what Bashir could figure out, the Jem'Hadar were practicing the  
fighting moves they'd learned during their contests with Martok and  
the other Alpha Quadrant inhabitants. From what he had heard, though,  
it seemed that although the Hadar were able to pick up the physical  
aspects of the combat - the parries, the feints, the attacks -  
quickly, they didn't seem to be able to absorb the theories behind  
them. The Hadar didn't think during battle, didn't make decisions on  
their own; they depended on the Vorta to direct them.

Their opponents didn't share that disadvantage, though, and that was  
the Hadar's greatest weakness. Every Alpha Quadrant soldier the Hadar  
would meet, whether Klingon, Cardassian, Federation, or even Romulan,  
knew that he or she might be called upon to lead a charge or even a  
battle in lieu of orders from commanding officers. Alpha Quadrant  
soldiers were taught strategy from the very first day they joined the  
military - even earlier for Klingons - and inculcated in every lesson  
of obedience and discipline was the caveat that one day the soldier  
might be called upon to lead, possibly in the most unexpected  
circumstances.

Bashir suspected that General Martok had noticed that weakness the  
first day he had walked into the ring to face a combatant. But there  
was something else Bashir had noticed: Martok he was much less  
disciplined in the ring than a Klingon in battle would normally be.  
Had Martok altered his style of battle simply to avoid as many  
injuries as possible so that he could one day escape? Or was his real  
intent to delude the Hadar into thinking that Klingon battle was based  
more on raw violence than on intellect and strategy? A sensible  
decision, Julian thought, if that were the case. If the Hadar saw  
Klingons as excessively violent and undisciplined, they'd be caught  
unawares in the heat of a real battle.

He pushed himself to his feet. It was time for his walk: three times a  
day, he circled his cell for thirty minutes. He hoped the activity  
would keep his leg muscles from atrophying, a common complaint of  
prisoners in solitary confinement. Luckily, the guards didn't seem to  
care. Four steps along one wall, three along the next, then four, then  
three again. It wasn't a walk in the Tuileries or in Hyde Park, but it  
kept the circulation going. Three days left, he told himself: three  
more days and he'd be out of isolation.

He only hoped Tain was still alive when he got out. Then again, he  
didn't even understand why he had been kept alive in the first place.  
He was no warrior. If they were planning on replacing him, why keep  
him alive and in (relatively) good shape? He was no warrior. Why not  
just space him?

It was a question he couldn't answer at the moment.

******

The staff all filed into the conference room at 1700 hours as usual.  
Garak pasted an indulgent smile on his face as he listened to the  
Chief and Julian argue about some holosuite adventure or another. He  
examined Miles O'Brien surreptitiously. If he was a Founder, then he  
was quite skilled in his ability to maintain his cover. Every gesture,  
every facial expression, every nuance of speech was Miles O'Brien to  
the T. He glanced over to Worf who was looking at Kira with a  
predatory gaze. The major was too wrapped up in her conversation with  
Dax to notice, and if one of them did catch his eye perhaps they would  
merely mistake his barely concealed anger for something more  
passionate.

Hopefully, Dax would assume it was directed toward her and not the  
Major or he suspected there would be a great deal of heated words  
exchanged between the lovers before he and Worf left on their mission.

Worf was obviously not a practitioner of the art of subtlety, he sighed.

"Are we boring you, Garak?" Julian asked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"I'm just a bit tired, that's all," Garak said wearily. It wasn't a  
lie. He was exhausted in more ways than one.

Julian gave him a sympathetic look. "You've been working non-stop for  
weeks now. After the meeting why don't you go to bed and rest a bit?  
After the swearing in ceremony tomorrow, we should take the day off  
together."

"That sounds nice." Garak nodded. Oh my dear, if only I could, he  
thought glumly.

"All right, let's get down to business." Sisko said, calling the  
meeting to order. "First off, I have some rather unfortunate news. Mr.  
Garak, Commander Worf, you have both been ordered to report to  
Starfleet Headquarters on Earth for a summit on Cardassian and Klingon  
Military Tactics and Intelligence." He paused to address Garak. "I  
realize this means we have to reschedule your swearing-in ceremony;  
however, the Admiral assured me that they will take care of it while  
you're on Earth. I only regret we cannot be there with you to share in  
the occasion."

Sisko was an excellent actor, Garak applauded silently. Every word was  
said with conviction and just the right amount of reluctance. "Who  
will work on tracking and deciphering the encoded transmissions in my  
absence?"

"Lt. Commander Dax will take over," Sisko answered smoothly.

It was the best way to keep her off of the Defiant and keep the  
communiqués safe at the same time. He had spent the afternoon teaching  
the Captain the symbols for each of the senior staff's names so if  
they did find Tain and their missing crewmember the Founder could be  
subdued. When Dax got the code she'd alert Sisko; he would be the only  
one who knew what it meant without letting anyone else, including Dax,  
in on the deception.

"I spoke to Starfleet about your suggestion to drop the search for  
survivors and they agreed to rescind the order early," Sisko  
continued. "All the other codes should be familiar to Dax and anything  
she can't translate, we'll send to you at Headquarters on a scrambled  
subspace channel."

Dax nodded and looked at Worf sadly. He and Mr. Worf were in the same  
boat at least, he thought. Both of us have to lie to our partners and  
leave on a mission that may very well kill us both.

Sympathizing with a Klingon: Garak cursed himself. I truly have become  
a Federation romantic. Next, he'd be advocating 'harsh' prison  
sentences that consisted entirely of basket weaving and empathic  
therapy sessions.

What a hideous prospect.

"What about the doctor? Is there any way he can join Mr. Worf and me  
at the conference?" They had discussed this as well. Although he was  
positive that Julian was not the Founder, no one could know about the  
mission other than the three of them. It was the only way to minimize  
the risk to all of them, the doctor especially. No one thought he  
would leak the information, but on the off chance the Founder  
suspected Julian knew about the encoded transmission, he could be  
targeted. The Founders claimed to have never harmed a member of their  
own race, but other races were fair game and Garak was an expert in  
interrogation methods. Even a man as stubborn and strong as Julian  
Bashir could be broken when the right stimulus was applied.

Before Sisko could say anything however, Julian spoke up, "I'm sorry,  
Garak, I can't." He gave him a miserable look. "I have too much to do  
here and I can't take the time off. My staff is overwhelmed as it is.  
I had to get Dr. Okuna to agree to take a double shift just so I could  
have the weekend off with you."

Sisko gave Garak a hard look that spoke volumes.

Garak patted his fiancé's hand comfortingly, but internally he was  
cursing this turn of events. Sisko was now eyeing Julian with renewed  
suspicion. Under normal circumstances Julian was always up for an away  
mission or a conference. It probably didn't help his case that he had  
never refused to go on a mission with Garak. In fact, it was usually  
impossible to keep him away. Although the doctor didn't know it, his  
dedicated work ethic was actually making him more of a suspect in the  
eyes of both the captain and Mr. Worf. "I understand, my dear.  
Hopefully I can use the trip to Earth to catch up on some paperwork so  
when I get back we'll have more leisure time together."

"Captain, I have responsibilities here which supersede the-" Worf began.

"Those were your orders and they came directly from the top," Sisko  
said, cutting him off firmly. "I don't like losing my two biggest  
tactical assets for a week or more either, but the good news is that  
you have orders to take the Defiant with you. The engineers at  
Headquarters have come up with some interesting modifications they  
want to make to its systems, which should come in very handy in the  
coming months. Also, and this is for Mr. Garak, your handler at  
Starfleet Intelligence contacted me personally and said that as long  
as you're down there they've decided to move up your commission  
hearing. When you come back, hopefully, you'll be wearing a uniform  
and answering to Lieutenant Garak."

The senior staff members all started giving Garak their hearty  
congratulations, and he pretended to be in good spirits at the news.  
He looked into Julian's brown eyes brimming with love and pride and  
felt his heart break.

He was lying to Julian.

Before they were involved he could have lied and felt no remorse. That  
was no longer the case now. Julian had become the first person he ever  
wanted to be truly honest to: no barriers, no lies, just himself. Now  
he was breaking that fragile trust.

It was for the greater good, he reminded himself, but it still hurt.  
It hurt much more than he ever expected it would.

Yet another thing for Tain to ridicule him about when they saw each  
other again, he supposed. Julian will understand. He's an officer. If  
it were he who had to be kept in the dark, Julian would do so without  
hesitation.

He believed that now more than ever.

He had never noticed the doctor's darker instincts before they had  
become involved, but Julian had proved to possess a natural talent for  
obfuscation and manipulation. At times it was as though he were truly  
a Cardassian hiding in the smooth flesh of a human. He could be quite  
calculating at times.

He looked at his lover carefully. Thoughts of the odd conversations,  
forgotten events, and other inconsistencies nagged at him even as he  
attempted to dismiss them from his mind.

Unfortunately, his instincts won out over sentimentality. Sisko had a  
point, he thought, as he accepted the staff's individual  
congratulations. The doctor was in a key position and his method of  
testing changeling DNA was one of their greatest defensive weapons  
against the Dominion. As the CMO he could fake any blood test he  
wanted. He cursed himself for that unbidden thought. He trusted  
Julian. He loved him. If anyone knew he wasn't a Founder it was Garak.

Still, the paranoia that had been so deeply ingrained into his nature  
reared its black head. He had no choice, he reasoned. If he were to  
satisfy the suspicions of Commander Worf and the captain, he had to  
investigate Julian before he left for the mission tomorrow afternoon  
and prove his innocence. Once he showed them and himself that Julian  
was not a Founder, he could rest easy knowing the doctor was at least  
safe from the captain's scrutiny while he was gone.

The rest of the meeting went as usual and Worf and Garak were given  
their formal orders and told to leave at 1600 tomorrow.

It was bound to be a long and eventful journey for both of them.

******


	2. Especially the Lies

Chapter Two: Especially the Lies

******

Garak sipped at his raktajino and eyed his icoberry torte with  
disinterest. He glanced over at Julian who was sitting on the couch  
reading reports and making notations on a PADD. His eyes skimmed over  
his face, the face that had become so familiar to him, and tried to  
compartmentalize his emotions as a Vulcan lover had once taught him to  
do.

He forced himself to look at Julian coolly and unemotionally and truly  
see him without the blush of affection he usually felt.

Tall, lean, and lanky with features that could have easily been  
considered harsh if it weren't for his eyes that seemed to broadcast  
his every emotion, Julian leaned back in the couch and tucked a stylus  
behind his ear then yawned loudly. When he was relaxed at home like  
this, he could be almost unbearably endearing. He scrubbed his short,  
curly hair with his hand and blinked owlishly at his PADD. "Screw  
this, no more work for the day." He looked up at Garak with a smile.  
"Let's go out and do something tonight. I'm in the mood for something  
different. We've been working so hard lately that we deserve to have a  
night out, catch some dinner, then maybe we can rent a holosuite and I  
can take you on a quick virtual tour of San Francisco so you won't be  
completely lost when you and Worf arrive there."

Garak rubbed his temples and pretended to consider his suggestion for  
a moment. "That sounds good, but unfortunately I have to finish this  
report the captain wanted before I leave tomorrow. I'll be done in two  
hours at the most, though. Maybe after that we can do something  
together? You could come back later and we'll have a nice dinner, then  
you could spend the night here."

Julian gave him a rueful smile. "I hope after your conference things  
start slowing down a little around here. We can't even sit on the same  
couch together anymore because it seems like one of us is always  
working."

Garak got up from the desk and walked over to the couch then gathered  
Julian in his arms and held him.

"What's this all about?" Julian chuckled as he squeezed the Cardassian tightly.

"I love you," Garak said simply as he breathed in the man's spicy and  
familiar scent, temporarily abandoning his plan to remain detached.

Julian pulled away slightly and smiled. Laugh lines appeared at the  
corners of his brown eyes, making him all the more attractive.  
"Missing me already, I take it?"

"I'm not really looking forward to going on this trip without you,"  
Garak said. It was the truth. He'd begun to think of Julian as his  
partner in all things, especially when it came to their  
investigations. The doctor had a quick mind and had proven on more  
than one occasion that he could be quite perceptive, almost to the  
point of ruthlessness, when the situation required it.

He forced his emotions back into their box. He needed to keep his  
focus. It had been a while since he had to think of Julian in such  
clinical terms, but the fact was he had no other choice but to  
manipulate the younger man for his own good.

Julian looked down at his lap and then glanced back up at Garak. "I  
know. I don't like it either, but we're both soldiers, first and  
foremost, and there will be many times when we'll have to go our  
separate ways. The good news is that it's only for a week or so, and  
when you get back we can go ahead and plan the wedding. In fact, I  
have a little surprise for you on that note."

"Oh?" Garak tried to keep his tone casual.

"I talked to my mother on subspace earlier and she offered to come up  
to the station for an extended visit." He smiled. "I remember you  
saying once that the job of the grooms are to sit back and wait for  
the mothers to hand them their clothes and tell them where to stand,  
well..."

Garak grinned. "No more wedding planning?"

"Nope. All we have to do is sit back and be lazy." Julian grinned as  
he stretched his arms over his head and then draped them back over  
Garak's shoulders.

"When is she coming?" Garak asked, thinking of the sophisticated woman  
of Indian descent he had spoken to many times over the comm unit.  
Amsha Bashir was witty, urbane, and quite delightful in her  
mannerisms. He could see a lot of her in Julian.

"She'll be here when you get back," Julian answered with a raised  
eyebrow. "If what the captain said turns out to be true, when you get  
back we can go ahead and have the wedding. Why wait, right?"

Garak forced his smile to remain relaxed. Sisko had lied when he said  
his commission hearing had been moved up. Damn. Garak weighed the risk  
against telling Julian the truth with the possibility that he would be  
angry to see that not only wasn't Garak an official member of  
Starfleet, but that he had lied about his mission altogether. Oh well,  
Garak thought; if Julian plans the wedding and can still manage to  
accept why he had to leave, then they'd just get married ahead of  
schedule and damn the consequences. Married officers who served  
together in deep space were normally required to go through premarital  
counseling and then meet with a host of other requirements before they  
were issued their marriage license. Let Sisko deal with it, he  
thought. As long as Julian was happy he could care less about having  
to deal with yet more damned forms.

How these Federation people managed to grow into such a great power  
was beyond him. When exactly did anyone have time to actually explore  
space when every second of the day brought more paperwork to fill out?  
"Sounds good to me. Perhaps while I'm gone your mother can supervise  
the decoration of the children's rooms as well?"

"Like you have to ask!" Julian chuckled. "The first thing she wants to  
do is go down to Bajor to meet the kids, then she's going on a  
shopping spree. I told her she can stay here in your quarters if  
that's all right?"

"That's fine; after all, she will be family," Garak said easily. "On  
Cardassia, the whole family often lives in the same home, in-laws  
included. Having her here will be most welcome, even in my absence."

"Did you grow up with a big family?" Julian asked curiously.

Garak's smile faltered. "No."

Julian gave him an assessing look. "If you don't want to talk about  
it, I understand."

Garak warred internally with himself: logic battled with sentiment  
until at last he came to a decision.

He could not share the truth with Julian about why he was really  
leaving. Perhaps, though, if he shared some of his past with him,  
Julian would later look back on this conversation and see that he  
really did trust him.

He took a breath. "I didn't have a family."

"You were an orphan?" Julian asked in surprise.

"Not...exactly."

"What does that mean, 'not exactly'?" Julian said, giving him a steady look.

"I was..." He tried to keep the shame out of his eyes, but he could  
tell Julian saw it anyway.

"Illegitimate?" Julian asked softly. The doctor was familiar enough  
with Cardassian traditions to know exactly what that meant. "But you  
had a position with the military. How is that possible?"

"It was a unique situation," Garak explained. "My birth documents had  
been forged and I was raised by my true father as his ward. He allowed  
me to get an education and make a place for myself within society but  
he never acknowledged my parentage."

"And your mother?" Julian asked carefully.

"She lived with us as well, as a servant. She never acknowledged me either."

Julian winced. "Your own parents treated you like you weren't theirs?"

"They felt it was for the best." Garak shrugged. "I had everything I  
needed; clothes, food, and an education. As long as society accepted  
that I was the child of some other couple who was taken in by my  
'guardian', I could obtain a respectable position within society. Had  
they decided to, they could have sent me to the workhouses or treated  
me as a servant. The position of someone born under those  
circumstances is similar to that of an indentured servant or slave.  
They cannot even marry unless the master of their house gives them  
permission and all of their progeny belongs to the master of the home  
to sell or put to use in whatever manner they see fit."

"That's barbaric!" Julian exclaimed in disgust. "How could someone do  
that to their own child?"

"A child with no name," Garak pointed out. "There is no advantage to  
having a child who cannot continue your bloodline. Some are even put  
to death at the moment of birth if their father feels that they are of  
no use to them."

"Did your parents...hurt you?"

Garak paused. "No, not really. I understand now what they were  
grooming me for and the reasons they chose to raise me as they had.  
You have to understand, as cruel as this sounds to you, for a  
Cardassian, it is a matter of survival."

"How can you justify child abuse as a survival tactic?" Julian asked angrily.

"I'm not justifying anything. I'm merely explaining to you the  
reasoning behind it." He turned to the doctor and looked him directly  
in the eye. "You've heard the term 'culling the herd', have you not?"

"People are not animals, Garak," Julian bit out.

"We are all animals, my dear. Some of us have merely evolved beyond  
swinging from trees or crawling the earth." He took Julian's hand in  
his to soften the impact of his words. "When a Cardassian marries it  
is rarely for love. Marriage is a business contract negotiated so that  
both families may benefit from the union. Sometimes, the couple in  
question are incompatible so one of them, usually the male, takes a  
lover. If the male produces issue with his lover this could affect the  
position of the children born within the marriage. It also endangers  
the entire family by splitting inheritance issues and whatnot. It is  
for this reason that any children born of the husband outside of the  
marriage become the property of the man's wife to do with as she  
pleases. A woman who has children outside of the marital contract can  
no longer marry; she can only aspire to become a bound concubine with  
a limited legal status. Her lover is required to provide for her, but  
she forfeits all rights to her children."

"Who would do that?" The human's eyes were dark with anger.

"A woman of a poor house with no prospects might find the idea of  
living a life as a kept woman very attractive." He shrugged. "Again,  
it's a business arrangement and her children are either a liability or  
an asset. If she bears strong or unusually beautiful children, the  
matriarch of the clan may 'adopt' them as her own, claiming that she  
is their birth parent, or sell them to another house so that her own  
children will not be looked on with disfavour by her husband. The weak  
who are more of a burden than an asset are sent away or put to sleep."

"Like a sick animal?"

"Again," Garak said pointedly, "we are all just animals in the end. We  
just justify our actions by designating them with the terms 'good' or  
'evil'. If an animal kills its young then it is merely nature  
correcting an imbalance, when a sentient being does so, they are seen  
as monstrous."

"That's horrible," Julian spat out in disgust.

"For the Great Houses, it is a matter of the survival of the fittest.  
Only the best of their bloodline may represent their House and those  
children are treated as if they were treasures beyond price. I have  
given you a harsh impression of my people, but contrary to what you  
may believe, in most homes, servants are treated with respect. Very  
few of them are outright abused." He smiled without humor. "A servant  
often has more power than his master when it comes to the running of  
the house. There are no secrets he is not privy to, no skill he does  
not possess, especially if he is good at his job. The servant has a  
vested interest in seeing that his master is kept safe and his home  
runs smoothly and a master knows that a mistreated servant can never  
be trusted again to prepare his food or wander through his house as he  
slumbers." He shook his head. "No, using their illegitimate offspring  
in this manner is not cruel as much as it is pragmatic. After all, who  
would you trust more to serve you; a stranger or your own kin whose  
survival is directly linked to your own?"

Julian absorbed this, his face dark and inscrutable, "Were you a servant?"

"Yes, but my job was not to peel tubers or mop floors." Garak leaned  
back into the cushions of the couch and forced himself to relax. "I  
was groomed to be my guardian's right hand, his most trusted, most  
loyal asset who could aid him in maintaining his power base but who  
could never succeed him. It was in this way that he kept me under his  
thumb. As long as I was dependent on him, I would never dare to  
overthrow him."

Realization dawned on Julian's face. He contemplated everything he had  
just learned then said, "I don't need you to finish the story, Garak."

He looked at the doctor. "Are you sure?"

Julian nodded. "You once told me that if you love someone you don't  
have to know all of the answers. You merely accept the person for what  
they mean to you."

"But you do have questions," Garak stated.

"I will always have questions, I just don't need you to answer all of  
them. Not anymore." Julian cupped Garak's cheek. "You are not those  
people. If you were, you wouldn't be adopting two children who have no  
family, no 'name'. I've seen how you look at Kela and Lewin whenever  
we visit. You are affectionate and loving, and you act that way with  
all of the orphans at the Ministry of the Forgotten Children." He bit  
his lip. "I always knew you felt a connection to them, but now I know  
why."

"Julian..." Garak stopped himself. Whatever he had started to say  
would have been a grave tactical error. He gathered his emotions and  
placed them back behind the wall he had built. This may be the man he  
loved more than life, but he had a duty to maintain his cover.

Julian kissed him, his lips gliding over Garak's own as their tongues  
caressed and made love to one another. Part of Garak tried to memorize  
every sensation he was feeling, every taste. He breathed in Julian's  
scent and lifted his hand so his could slide it in his short, dark  
curls. The rough texture of his lover's hair imprinted itself on  
Garak's fingertips. In the days to come, this memory would be all he  
had of him so the Cardassian made sure to relish it.

"Let's go to bed," Julian breathed against his lips.

Garak groaned. It had been more than a week since he'd lain with  
Julian. His shaft hardened to the point of near pain from just  
thinking about it. Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to remain  
strong, he said, "I want to, you know I want to, but I have to finish  
my work." He took at deep, shuddering breath and looked into Julian's  
passion-filled gaze. "Go do what you have to do, and when you get back  
we'll have the whole evening together. I'll go ahead and pack while  
you're gone so we'll have the morning as well."

Julian blanched. "I promised Miles I'd stop by in the morning to work  
out some bugs in the new holoscenario we were building. I assumed  
you'd be busy – I can cancel it."

"No," Garak said, more than a little disappointed as he caressed  
Julian's hand with the pad of his thumb. "You're right, I do have some  
other errands that need to be taken care of, especially if your mother  
is coming. I need to speak to Ajaz about the clothes I wanted to have  
made for when they visit next month. Maybe if he can finish them your  
mother can bring the clothes down to Bajor during her visit."

Julian grimaced in obvious frustration. "This is so unfair. Here we  
are, set to be married soon, and we can't even manage to take even a  
morning off to be together."

"Go do what you need to do and I'll finish this report and pack,"  
Garak said, rising from the couch and pulling Julian up with him. "Go  
pick up a gift for your mother and the children, and then bring back  
some dinner. Nothing spicy," he requested, giving Julian a crooked  
grin. "I'm going to be trapped in a ship with Mr. Worf for several  
hours – the last thing I need is indigestion on top of having to deal  
with a Klingon."

"I'll hurry back," Julian promised, as he bent his head to give Garak  
a quick kiss. He headed for the door then paused. "Did you want me to  
pick something up for you? Something specific that you wanted to give  
my mother or something for your trip?"

He thought about it. "Just pick up a nice present your mother would  
like and sign the card from both of us. I trust your judgement."

"More like you don't feel like picking it out yourself." Julian waved.  
"I'll be back in a couple of hours. Comm me if you need anything." And  
then he was gone.

Garak returned to his terminal and began to punch in the codes to  
access Odo's security footage.

As the screen filled with images of his lover heading toward the  
Promenade, Garak tried to suppress his turbulent emotions once again.  
If he was right and Julian was perfectly innocent, then he was  
betraying Julian's trust just do he could show the captain something  
he already knew to be true. It didn't matter that it was in Julian's  
best interest, it still made him uneasy. At worst....

Garak tried not to think about that as he continued to follow Julian's  
progress on his terminal.

When Sisko had called him into his office after the staff meeting he  
ordered Garak and Worf to keep surveillance on their suspects. Sisko  
would watch Kira, Worf was assigned to Chief O'Brien, and Garak was  
ordered to keep tabs on Julian.

Not liking it, but knowing it was necessary, Garak had agreed. Sisko  
was having dinner with Kira that evening; Worf and Jadzia had made  
plans to spend time with the O'Briens. Garak, for obvious reasons, was  
to watch the doctor and make note of any suspicious behavior.

He watched Julian make his way into the various shops of the  
Promenade, watched him make small talk with some of the denizens of  
the station then pop into Garak's favorite pastry shop for a sinful  
looking dessert.

Relief flooded through the Cardassian as he accounted for every step  
his lover had taken since leaving his quarters. As he watched Julian  
juggle his packages with the huge bag of food he was carrying toward  
the turbolifts he allowed himself to voice the truth aloud. "All  
right, so maybe I wasn't just doing this to reassure Sisko." He  
laughed out loud suddenly, joy and relief flooding his body. "Thank  
you." Who he was thanking, Garak neither knew nor cared.

He dismissed all the little nagging doubts that had plagued him and  
switched off the monitor then hurried out toward the turbolifts. The  
second the doors opened he lunged for Julian, knocking the packages  
out of his hands as he grabbed him in a bear hug and hauled him close.

"Garak! What the-mmph!"

Garak kissed Julian hard, not caring that their packages were  
scattered on the floor or that some of their coworkers who were  
walking down the corridor had stopped to stare, some in open-mouthed  
shock and some snickering into their hands. When he released the  
doctor, Julian just stared at him for a moment in stunned disbelief  
and then scowled. "Dammit! It took me two hours to shop for all that  
stuff and now look at it!" He reached down and righted the bag of take  
out grimacing as some sauce leaked out and ran over his hands onto the  
floor. "Great." He gestured to the cake that was lying upside down in  
its packaging. "I hope you like the cake. Turns out having them  
decorate it was a big waste of time."

Garak just kept grinning down at him as the doctor gathered up the  
scattered packages.

"Are you just going to stand there grinning like an idiot or are you  
going to help me get this stuff into our quarters?" Julian asked  
irritably. He looked at the Cardassian suspiciously, "What's wrong  
with you? Have you been drinking or something?"

Garak laughed, a full-bodied laugh that was filled with joy and  
relief. Julian blinked in surprise and then began to chuckle as well.  
"What? What did I miss? Did something happen while I was gone?"

"Nothing happened." Garak said, bending over to help with the bags  
then offering Julian a hand up. "Nothing at all."

Julian shook his head as they made their way to their soon-to-be  
shared quarters. "I swear, if I didn't know better I'd think you were  
going senile."

******

Julian licked the chocolate off of his fingers and grinned, "This was  
a good idea. Messy, but good."

Garak looked up at Julian from his side of the bed and offered him  
some of his noodles. "Bite?"

Julian leaned over and allowed Garak to feed him some of his Chinese  
food with the chopsticks. He opened his mouth and laughed as one of  
the noodles fell from his mouth onto his bare chest. "Damn it." He  
grabbed some napkins and scrubbed off the sauce. He glanced at the  
sheets. "We're going to have to change the bed. You've got sweet and  
sour sauce all over the place."

Garak grinned and reached over to grab Julian's hand, licking and  
sucking at his fingertips. "Mmm, I really was hungry, I suppose."

Julian rolled his eyes and reached for another carton. "Any more beef  
and broccoli?"

"Here," Garak said, holding out another white box. When Julian reached  
for it, though, he kept it out of his reach. "Ah ah." He reached in  
with his fingers and pulled out a sliver of tender meat and dropped in  
on his lover's tongue, allowing his fingers to linger so Julian could  
lick off the thin gravy.

Julian chuckled. "What has gotten into you tonight?"

"You don't remember?" Garak asked with a raised eyeridge.

"Oh, I remember," Julian said, scooting closer to Garak and pulling  
his chin close. He kissed him gently, his teeth nibbling at the  
Cardassian's lips before opening his mouth and delving inside.

Garak moaned. He could taste him, all of him. The flavors of the food  
combined with the sweetness of the chocolate cake and that  
unmistakable essence that was Julian Bashir.

Garak swept the boxes out of the way and pulled Julian closer.

"You're making a mess," the doctor muttered against his lips then  
gasped as Garak moved on top of him. "We're going to get sticky."

"We'll take a shower," Garak growled as he licked and sucked his way  
down Julian's chest.

He licked and nibbled at Julian's flat, brown nipples, smiling as he  
heard his lover gasp, then wiggled his hips until his hardness was  
nudging the doctor's. "May I...?"

Julian reached up and grabbed the back of Garak's head, pulling him to  
him roughly then kissed him hard. When they broke apart, he said,  
"Let's get something straight right now: if you want to fuck me,  
Garak, you don't have to ask – just do it."

Garak groaned and reached for the lubricant they had used earlier in  
the evening. He quickly prepared them both then slid inside. "Oooooh,  
you feel so good."

The men began to thrust together, harder and harder, until they found  
the perfect rhythm. Julian clawed at Garak's back as he writhed  
beneath him, moaning in pleasure. Garak opened himself to the  
sensation of loving and being loved as he pounded harder and harder  
inside of the other man.

This is what he would miss the most, he thought muzzily as he felt his  
orgasm build. As soon as he got back he would make this man his,  
forever. Julian, as though he were reading his thoughts, began to  
gasp, "Oh god, I love you, oh god, oh god."

When Julian's body tightened and spilled that was all it took to send  
Garak over the edge. He shuddered and groaned on top of the other man  
when he felt the liquid heat of Julian's semen splash against him,  
then quieted before he rolled to the side. "Damn!" he hissed.

"What happened?" Julian asked looked up, then laughed as Garak tossed  
the broken chopstick off the bed. "See, now that's why you're never  
supposed to fuck on top of serving ware."

Garak grimaced and rubbed his hip. "I think I have a splinter."

Julian pressed Garak's shoulder, indicating he should lie on his  
stomach, and examined his butt cheek. "Not even a scratch, you big  
girl," he said before planting a kiss on the red mark.

"I'd quote the Chief and ask you to kiss my 'arse', as he calls it,  
but that seems redundant now," Garak joked, then said, "Ow!" when  
Julian smacked the aforementioned musculature.

Julian sat up and looked at the sticky mess coating his stomach,  
thighs, and genitals. "This is the only part of sex I hate. Pass me a  
towel, would you?"

Garak reached for the towel on the floor beside the bed and began to  
hand it to Julian then stopped. He scooted toward him and began to  
wipe off his stomach slowly then, with his naked finger, he collected  
some of the semen from the head of Julian's cock and rubbed it between  
his fingers thoughtfully.

"What the hell are you doing?" Julian asked, looking at him strangely.

"Just thinking." Garak said as he wiped his fingers on the towel then  
finished cleaning off Julian before taking care of himself.

"I'm a little afraid to ask this, but what exactly were you thinking  
about?" Julian asked dubiously.

Garak paused to gather his thoughts. "How do you suppose Founders reproduce?"

"What?" Julian asked with a raised eyebrow. "Where did that come from?"

"I mean, they don't have semen, right? Without semen, how do they reproduce?"

"I have no idea," Julian said with a frown. "Maybe they just, I don't  
know, split in half or something."

"Well, if they don't have blood then they can't have semen, so does  
that mean they can't have...?" Garak let his voice trail off.

"Sex? Orgasms?" Julian shrugged. "I imagine they can if they want to.  
Odo has had sex before, I believe. I've never asked him. Also, from  
what I gather, the Great Link is a kind of sexual experience. They  
merge and share pleasure with one another. Is that what you want to  
know?"

"Actually, I was wondering if it was possible for a Founder and a  
humanoid to mate–reproduce." He looked at Julian, his face open and  
relaxed as he kept his tone casual. "Let's say that if Odo and the  
Major ever wanted to have children, could Odo generate sperm?"

"And you're asking this why?" Julian asked.

Garak shrugged. "She and Shakaar are on the outs and she's been  
spending more and more time with the Constable. Since giving birth to  
the O'Brien baby she's become very maternal. Just the other day she  
was talking about how 'Yoshi' seems to recognize her. I'm wondering;  
if he chose to, could Odo father an infant of his own that was half  
Major Kira's?"

Julian wrinkled his brow as he considered Garak's statement. "This  
smacks a little too close to gossip for my tastes."

"Never mind then; just forget I said anything." Garak shrugged as he  
reached for the box of smashed chocolate cake then looked around for a  
fork. "I just thought that as a scientist you'd have an opinion on the  
matter."

"So this is purely a scientific discussion?" Julian asked as he handed  
Garak a fork then pinched a piece of ruined cake between his fingers  
and popped it in his mouth.

"Absolutely," Garak nodded.

Julian thought about it carefully. "I'd have to say that Founders  
could not produce children with a humanoid because their physiology is  
too different, but if you're asking if they could produce something  
similar to semen, anything is possible."

"But if they can't produce blood then they can't produce semen," Garak  
argued as he ate his cake.

Julian shrugged and snatched Garak's fork away, stealing his dessert.  
"The only Founder we really know is Odo and he's not exactly an  
experienced shapeshifter. Who knows how closely an older Founder could  
mimic humanoid physiology. For all we know, an experienced Founder  
could even produce blood cells and skin cells that are absolutely  
identical to our own. Just because we haven't seen it yet, doesn't  
mean they can't do it. So far our blood tests have worked, so most  
likely it's impossible for them to do that." He shook his head, "Even  
if I'm wrong and they can produce semen, they'd be infertile. If the  
Major and Odo ever wanted children they'd either have to adopt, find a  
sperm donor for Kira, or Odo would have to be the only pregnant man on  
Deep Space Nine."

"Odo, pregnant." Garak shuddered dramatically.

"It does make one's blood run cold, doesn't it?" Julian said dryly  
before setting his stolen fork down. "Let's go take a shower."

"After you."

******

Bashir wondered for the hundredth time what the Founder who had  
replaced him was doing on Deep Space Nine. Had he been caught? Or had  
his preparations been thorough enough for him to blend in?

He was forced to concede that the Founder had likely hacked into his  
private logs and might even know about the enhancements, but he still  
thought he'd be a fool to go public with any of it. No, he told  
himself: the Founder would likely lie low, do his job quietly and  
professionally (or at least for his patients' sake Bashir hoped that  
was the case), and carry out whatever subterfuge he was intending on  
with the precision and cunning the Founders were experts at.

The doctor in Bashir worried over whether the Founder had allowed any  
of his crewmembers, colleagues, or friends to come to harm through  
lack of surgical or medical skills. He didn't worry about Kira or the  
O'Brien child; he had decided that it was unlikely the Founder would  
attract attention to himself by causing harm to either of them,  
especially considering the fact that Bajoran births were relatively  
trouble-free.

He suddenly grinned. Miles had mentioned that Kira had wanted Shakaar  
to be with her at the birth. Maybe that would be enough to hook the  
man, he thought. He had treated Shakaar once for some minor ailment -  
a sequela of shinglepox, if he recalled correctly - and remembered  
that his medical history had contained a reference to a long-dead  
daughter. Perhaps by the time he got back, the two of them would be  
engaged.

That's the spirit, Bashir, he told himself: when you get back, not if.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

******


	3. In-Between Moments

Chapter Three: In-Between Moments

******

"Good morning."

Garak opened his eyes slowly and stretched, smiling at his lover.  
"Good morning. What time is it?"

"Late - 0950." Julian smiled. "First time in months that we've been  
able to sleep past 0500 hours."

"O950 isn't late," Garak objected, closing his eyes and snuggling back  
into his pillow. "1200 hours is late. Let's go back to bed."

"God, you're a layabout," Julian snorted, then snatched the covers off of Garak.

"Noooo," Garak whined.

"You have errands to run, remember? I have to go work this bug out  
with Miles for a bit, but as soon as you're done I want you to comm me  
and we'll spend some time together before you and Worf take off,  
okay?"

"But the sheets are so soft and clean." Garak smiled as he held up the  
end of the sheet. "See? I even used that new program for the refresher  
that makes them smell," he sniffed the material dramatically, "flower  
fresh. You sure you don't want to take off that uniform and slip back  
into bed? I could make it worth your while." He wiggled his eyeridges  
comically.

Julian rolled his eyes. "If only the rest of the senior crew could see  
you now. When I first told them we were getting married everyone  
warned me about how cool and distant you were and that you were some  
kind of cold-blooded killer or something." He awarded him with a  
crooked grin. "If only they knew that you were the Cardassian  
equivalent of a pussy cat."

"Can I have my blanket back?" Garak asked, pointedly ignoring him.

"A fat, lazy pussy cat!" Julian pronounced. "Get up! You need to take  
a shower and get dressed. You didn't pack last night so you'd best get  
on with it."

Garak began to mutter darkly as he swung his naked legs over the side  
of the bed and headed toward the bathroom. "And who could have  
predicted that the minute you got used to the idea of domestication  
you'd turn into a harridan?"

"Then it can be you that complains about a nagging spouse in Quark's  
instead of me," Julian said, completely unaffected by Garak's  
criticism as he straightened out the bed. He glanced over at Garak who  
was standing in front of the commode. "When you see Ajaz this morning  
make sure to tell him that I'll be the one picking up the children's  
clothes when he's done."

"I will," Garak said grumpily as he shook off the remaining droplets  
of urine from his foreskin then flushed the commode so it slid back  
into the wall. Garak walked over to the sink and washed his hands,  
then picked up his toothbrush. "What's the problem you're having with  
your holoprogram? Maybe I can help?" he offered, turning on his  
toothbrush then running the warm, vibrating laser bristles over his  
teeth and gums.

Julian walked into the bathroom carrying a folded stack of Garak's  
underwear in his hand. He leaned against the doorframe and shrugged.  
"Halfway through, the program starts to stick and the characters begin  
to blink in and out. Personally, I think it's Quark's holosuites that  
are defective, but Miles says it's in the programming." Julian  
grimaced. "He's the engineer, so I'll have to go with his opinion on  
that, I suppose."

Garak pressed the panel near the sink and then picked up the small cup  
of mouthwash as it appeared. He swished his mouth out then replaced  
the cup allowing it to be recycled. After he spit it out and wiped his  
mouth, he asked, "If you want, I could join you. I know a bit about  
programming."

"What about Ajaz?" he asked.

Garak paused, then shrugged. "I'll just send him a list of patterns  
along with the children's measurements. He's a fairly competent tailor  
so he'll do a good job, I'm sure."

"Please," Julian snorted. "You are the most detail-oriented person I  
know. If one stitch is out of place you'll be miserable to live with  
for days. Go to the tailor shop and at least get the process started  
for him then comm me when you're ready for lunch."

Garak nodded reluctantly, then gestured at the stack of clothes in  
Julian's hand. "Are you packing for me?"

"Are you going to take a shower?" Julian asked instead.

"I just took one a few hours ago," he answered.

"Then hurry up and get out here. I'll help you but I'm not doing it  
all by myself," he said with a look. "Here!" He tossed him a pair of  
underwear then cocked his head toward the bedroom. "Let's just get  
this done and we can both be on our way."

Garak slipped on the shorts and headed out of the room toward the bureau.

Garak walked into the closet then brought out an armful of clothing to  
go into his travel cases. He doubted he'd need them, but the whole  
process of packing was for Julian's benefit anyway. The doctor thought  
they were going to Earth, not the Gamma Quadrant. Garak doubted the  
Founders would throw him and Mr. Worf a formal reception when they  
came calling, but he grabbed a formal suit anyway. After all, he  
imagined if he really were going to Earth there would be some sort of  
occasion for formal dress. There was always a soiree or dinner one was  
required to attend at such conferences.

He must have been correct because Julian nodded his approval when he  
handed him the stack of clothes.

"Pack some lighter weight tunics as well," Julian said as he unzipped  
his wardrobe bag and placed the suits inside. "San Francisco is hot  
this time of year, even by Cardassian standards." He paused, "Well,  
for a Cardassian who has acclimated to living on a mostly humanoid  
space station, anyway."

"Just one or two though," Garak said, going back to the closet. "When  
Mr. Worf sees me with a duffle and a wardrobe bag he'll make some kind  
of remark about how a true warrior should learn to travel light, or  
something."

"I doubt it," Julian snorted. "Jadzia's packing for him. He'll  
probably have more suitcases than you, despite being able to just  
replicate a fresh uniform whenever he feels like it. She once told me  
that if he thought he could get away with it, Worf would just recycle  
his underwear by turning it inside out if she weren't there to keep  
him civilized."

Garak grimaced. "Please, don't say anything else on that subject. The  
images and implications of that are making my stomach churn." He  
walked over to the bureau and applied his deodorant and then shook  
some scented oil out of its bottle and rubbed it across his chest. He  
then reached into the drawer, pulling out a soft undershirt before  
catching Julian's reflection in the mirror. "What?"

Julian walked over to Garak and breathed in the clean, spicy scent  
before embracing the Cardassian and holding him close. "Just, you  
know, enjoying the in-between moments."

Garak squeezed Julian to him, his undershirt still in his hand as he  
buried his nose in his lover's thick, dark curls. He had once said to  
him that the best part of being with someone was the intimacy of the  
in-between moments. How true that had proved to be, he thought to  
himself. He pulled away then slipped on his undershirt. "Keep it up  
and we'll be here all day."

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," Julian complained without any real heat behind  
the words.

As soon as Garak was finished dressing, they took his bags and set  
them near the door of their quarters. They rode the turbolift up  
together then separated when they got to the Promenade with a brief  
kiss and Garak promising to comm Julian as soon as he was done.

Garak headed toward his old shop with a smile. As worried as he was  
about Tain and getting to their missing crewman, whomever he or she  
was, he was at least happy that he had put all of his nagging doubts  
about Julian to rest. He had considered doubling back so he could  
continue to monitor Julian's progress, but dismissed it. It was more  
important that he stick with a routine in case the Founder was  
watching. Besides, it wasn't Julian he was worried about.

Julian was just Julian.

He smiled.

******

Just a few more hours, Bashir told himself, as the Hadar guard slammed  
his meal (if he could call it that) down on the hard concrete floor  
and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. By later that day he'd be  
out of this bloody isolation and back into the regular prison  
population.

As he picked at his gruel, he thought back to the module in medical  
school that had discussed the behavior of prisoners in isolation. A  
Human could go crazy after a month, other species in even less time.  
It hadn't been that difficult for him, though; his years of isolating  
himself from the rest of society had stood him in good stead. But his  
colleagues and friends...perhaps he was fortunate to be the one in  
solitary. Of course, he was also likely the only viable candidate.

It was clear to him why the Founders had picked him as their target.  
As the station CMO not only did he handle blood screenings, he also  
held the safety of the crew in his hands. Nobody would be surprised to  
see the doctor in any section of the station; as he was always being  
called upon to tend sick or injured crewmembers, his presence would  
never be questioned. Bashir was also the only officer able to  
single-handedly remove any crewmember from duty, even the Captain. He  
could imagine the Founder drugging Sisko, O'Brien, or Kira and keeping  
them away from their posts, claiming they were unfit for duty. He  
could even keep O'Brien and the rest of the Station Services  
department busy with minor acts of sabotage disguised as 'needed  
repairs', giving the Founder time to perform whatever major sabotage  
he was planning.

And he was really the only choice. The Prophets had protected Sisko in  
the past from far less perilous situations than being kidnapped and  
replaced by a Founder, he thought, and anyway with Kasidy Yates back  
on the station he doubted they'd try, since he doubted it was possible  
to hide regeneration from a spouse or partner or even a roommate. That  
also made Worf, Dax, and O'Brien less likely candidates, and Kira -  
either the Founder would have to assume the pregnancy or two Founders  
would have to be involved, and mimicking the symptoms of pregnancy  
might be too difficult for them. And they wouldn't allow a Founder to  
come to harm, so that eliminated Odo.

They could have chosen Garak instead, he thought idly. He wasn't a  
member of the senior staff, but he was friendly with some of them.  
Plus he was a solitary being like Bashir. There were no lovers (as far  
as Bashir knew), no friends who would drop in at inconvenient times.  
The problem with replacing Garak, though, was that most of the crew  
already suspected him of being a spy. Even a slight change in his  
personality or his actions would be remarked upon and he'd likely end  
up in the brig again. No, Bashir thought, Garak wasn't a logical  
choice either.

The door opened again: the Hadar guard took the bowl, spoon, and cup  
and left, throwing a damp towel at him before the door slammed shut.

It was bizarre, he thought with a sigh as he picked up the towel and  
began to wipe himself clean. His captors were more concerned that he'd  
smell bad than they were that he might die. Of course, if the Hadar  
had been engineered to have a strong sense of smell, perhaps to hunt  
down opponents...he'd remember to mention that if he was rescued.

When he was rescued, he told himself.

******

"You're sure I can't pay you anything?"

Ajaz waved him off as he brought over another bolt of colorful Bajoran  
cotton. "Please, after the deal you gave me on this place and your  
entire stock? My husband and wives would disown me if I tried to  
charge you. Besides," he added, "I have ten children of my own. I'm  
happy to help. I can't wait to meet Kela and Lewin next month."

"They are wonderful children," Garak agreed, thinking of the  
mixed-race sibling set he and the doctor had first met several weeks  
ago while they were investigating a murder on Bajor. "We've managed to  
see them at least every other weekend on Bajor since beginning the  
adoption process, but I must admit, I am looking forward to their  
first visit here, myself."

"How long will they be allowed to stay?" Ajaz asked.

Garak smiled at the Bolean tailor. "Just the day for the first visit  
so they can get acclimated to the idea of being alone with us, then  
they'll begin overnight visits once a week for a month before we take  
custody permanently."

Ajaz rolled his eyes. "Seems like a waste of time. Those Bajoran  
social workers should just go ahead and let you take custody now. I  
can't imagine two more loving parents than you and the doctor. I've  
seen the way you act with each other and the doctor showed me that  
last set of holoimages you took at the orphanage of the kids. They  
looked happy as can be with you."

Garak shrugged. "I thought the same thing myself in the beginning, but  
then when all this business started with the Dominion I realized that  
if the children were here we wouldn't have a lot of time to spend with  
them. Their teacher and daycare worker would have seen them more than  
us. This way it's a gradual process and the children can get to know  
us better first. They've been through a lot and the orphanage is the  
only real home they've ever known."

"Too bad you and the doctor's people aren't more open-minded about  
your marriage customs." Ajaz said ruefully. "If you did like the  
Boleans do, and took on a few more wives and husbands, you'd never  
have to worry about childcare or your children being alone. I mean,  
our family is small by my people's standards, but still, not one of my  
children has ever so much as needed a babysitter."

"I suppose not all of us are as evolved as the Bolean people," Garak  
said as he began cutting out a colorful romper for Kela.

"Certainly not when it comes to your plumbing, at any rate," Ajaz  
agreed, picking up a sizing tool. "I still can't get the Starfleet  
people to understand that we need to install specialized plumbing in  
our new quarters. They just look at me as though they have no clue  
what I'm referring to."

Garak rolled his eyes. "Good luck trying to explain it to them.  
They'll probably make you fill out six PADDs of forms in triplicate  
before they even order the first fixture."

Ajaz grunted in agreement as he began cutting the cloth for Lewin's  
trousers. "I mean, we're paying rent, we should be able to – damn it!"  
The lights in the shop blinked and buzzed before coming back on. "All  
week that's been happening! I've asked them three times to fix that!"

Garak frowned as he looked up at the ceiling. "Have you talked to  
Chief O'Brien about that?"

"I certainly have, and he promised–"

"I'm here, I'm here!" O'Brien huffed as he hurried into the shop and  
dropped his toolbox on the floor near the conduit panel. "Sorry about  
that. I would have had one of my men here sooner but we've had power  
fluctuations and outages all over the station for over a week now and  
we can't seem to figure out where they're all coming from."

"Well, it's about time!" Ajaz said, his bright blue cheeks flushing  
purple with anger. "I asked your department a week ago for some  
assistance and no one even commed me back. I'm going to tell Major  
Kira that I want my rent prorated to reflect the inconvenience this  
has caused me!" He pointed out the door of the shop to the other  
businesses across the Promenade. "Quark got his power relays fixed the  
first day he filed a claim and my cousin-in-law, Bubba, said that when  
Duarto told you the power was going out in his shop someone was there  
within minutes! What, only the humans and Ferengi get fast service on  
this station?"

"It isn't about race, Ajaz! My whole crew has been run ragged for the  
past week because of these power drains!" O'Brien grouched. "I came  
down here personally because I know you've been waiting so long, AND I  
ordered that plumbing you requested myself. Someone's installing it in  
your quarters as we speak."

"Took you people long enough," Ajaz said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well, I'm here now so what do you want from me?" O'Brien said  
irritably as he scanned the power coupling. "There, fixed! You're  
welcome," he said sarcastically. He got up and glared at Ajaz. "You  
know, I always heard Boleans were supposed to be a friendly and  
free-loving sort of folk. But you–you're just plain unpleasant." He  
looked at Garak ruefully, "You might have always cut the trousers a  
bit too long, but at least you believed in service with a smile." The  
last bit was pointed toward the Bolean tailor.

"I'm not here to dance and play a tambourine for your amusement,  
human," Ajaz said darkly. "Believe it or not, my people were not  
placed within the universe to be the jesters of the Federation."

"Oh Christ, there he goes with that 'blue power' crap again," O'Brien  
muttered rolling his eyes heavenward.

Ajaz started to say something but Garak cut him off. "I thought you  
and Julian were going to work on something in the holosuites this  
morning? Something about a programming glitch in one of your battle  
scenarios?"

Miles frowned, picking up his tool case. "He didn't mention anything  
like that to me. Maybe you misheard him, besides," he said walking to  
the door, "Julian knew I'd be working overtime all weekend on these  
power fluctuations. Maybe he got Dax to help him."

"That was probably it," Garak said, suddenly feeling very disturbed.  
"Now I remember, you're right. It was Dax he was talking about. I just  
heard 'holosuites' and assumed it was you he was referring to."

Miles shrugged. "I'm headed that way now. If I see him do you want me  
to tell Julian you're looking for him?"

"No, no," Garak said quickly. "I'll see him later anyway."

"Okay." He turned to Ajaz. "If you have any more problems, comm me and  
I'll come check it out." He glared and said pointedly, "That doesn't  
mean I'll drop everything and come running, it means I'll get here as  
soon as I'm able to." He narrowed his eyes. "I realize you have this  
conspiracy theory that just because you're short, bald, and blue, the  
world is out to get you; but, believe it or not, I have a whole entire  
station to take care of, not just 'your' shop."

Ajaz snorted. "In that case, as soon as the power goes back out, I'll  
comm you and maybe, in a month or so when you finally drag yourself  
over here, you can prove that."

Miles shook his head in frustration then turned to Garak. "Are you  
sure you don't want to go back to being the station's tailor? Never  
thought I'd say this, but I'd much rather deal with you any day than  
him." He hitched his thumb toward Ajaz before heading out the door.

"Yeah, and just make sure to check for pins the next time you need  
your inseam adjusted," Ajaz shot back as Miles waved his hand over his  
head, on his way toward Quark's Bar. "Humans," he grumbled, picking up  
his tool again and cutting the cloth. "I can usually tolerate most of  
them but that O'Brien has a real attitude problem." He glanced up at  
Garak who was sitting at the cutting table in silence, his expression  
dark. "Something wrong?"

Garak shook his head and got out of his chair, heading out of the  
shop. "I just remembered I had to do something before I left on my  
trip. Can you finish the children's clothes for me?"

"No problem," Ajaz said. "Tell the doctor they'll be ready on Wednesday."

Garak nodded, although he didn't really hear the Bolean's words, his  
mind too filled with disturbing thoughts. He quickly made his way  
toward the turbolifts and as soon as the doors shut he slapped his  
comm badge. "Garak to Bashir. How are the repairs coming to your  
holoprogram?"

//It's a little rough, but we're getting it done. Miles says we'll be  
through within the hour, why? Are you hungry?//

Garak felt his stomach lurch as he struggled to keep his tone casual.  
"Getting there but I want to finish these last little details on some  
of the patterns I'm working on with Ajaz. Meet you in our quarters in  
forty-five minutes?"

//Perfect. See you then, Bashir out.//

Garak hurried to his quarters so he could track down Julian on the  
security monitors.

Julian was lying to him.

Without even stopping to consider the implications of that, he just  
concentrated on how he was going to track the doctor down. As soon as  
the turbolift stopped and the doors opened he walked briskly across  
the hall to his quarters, then rushed through the door.

What he saw then made him stop cold in his tracks.

Julian was placing a couple of long tapered candles in the center of  
the dining table in the kitchen. The buffet bar was already loaded  
down with various cold dishes and a small banner that said,  
"Congratulations Lt. Garak" hung across the archway to the replicator.  
"Dammit, Garak! You scared the shit out of me!" He grimaced. "This was  
supposed to be a surprise. What are you doing here so soon? I just  
spoke to you not two seconds ago."

Garak opened his mouth then closed it again as he tried to come up  
with a reasonable excuse. "I had a similar idea to yours, apparently.  
I was going to fix you lunch before I left so you could have something  
nice to remember before I left on my trip."

The doctor offered him a sweet smile. "In that case get over there and  
start up the replicator. I already programmed in our menu, you just  
have to hit the start button."

Garak walked over and gave Julian a quick kiss before heading toward  
the replicator and punching in the command. As the steaming hot dishes  
materialized, he picked up the hot pads hanging next to the unit and  
brought them over to the table.

"I have to say, at first I wasn't so sure about accepting that  
replicator from Krath Milnar, but it sure is a lot nicer than the  
standard ones everyone else has. Even the captain is jealous." He  
grinned and looked up at Garak. "Good thing I'm not going with you,  
huh? If we were both off the station he might be tempted to  
'confiscate' it." Julian stopped then frowned, noticing Garak's  
troubled expression. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Garak said, pasting a bright smile back on his face. "I'm just  
sad that this is the last lunch we'll be sharing for a while." Julian  
turned to embrace him and Garak held him close, luxuriating in the  
feel of the doctor's lean muscles rippling under his hands as he  
caressed his back. "You changed your clothes."

Julian pulled away from him and looked down at his sweater and jeans.  
"I thought you might like it if I wore the sweater you knitted me for  
our last meal."

"You look beautiful," Garak said softly, admiring the way the bronze  
knit looked against his lover's swarthy complexion.

Julian smiled ruefully. "I think you mean 'handsome'."

"No. Beautiful. I meant beautiful."

As they kissed, Garak cursed himself for what he had almost done. To  
think, he actually thought–

No matter, Garak told himself. After today he would never mistrust  
Julian Bashir again.

******

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Garak asked, not bothering to look  
up as he entered some information onto his PADD.

Worf didn't bother lying. "No, I do not."

Garak looked at him from the corner of his eye. "I can respect that. I  
wouldn't trust me either if I were in your position."

They sat in silence for a while as Worf continued to pilot the Defiant  
towards their listening post as Garak continued tapping on his PADD.  
After a while, Worf grimaced and nodded toward the thin handheld  
computer. "What are you working on?"

"Some more forms I have to submit for my commission hearing. I think  
it would have been easier just to go to the damned Academy and get it  
over with," he muttered.

Worf tightened his mouth in disapproval. "I still do not understand  
why you wish to join Starfleet."

"What's not to understand?" Garak asked, looking up. "I've lived on  
the station for more than five years, I'm marrying a Federation  
citizen who is a Starfleet officer, and I'm working for Starfleet  
Intelligence – why not take the extra step and accept the commission  
they're offering?"

Worf looked at him then back at the viewscreen. "You do not find that  
it is disloyal for you to abandon your people so entirely that you  
would reject your entire identity in this manner?"

"Did you reject your identity when you joined Starfleet?" Garak shot back.

"That was not the same thing," Worf answered gruffly.

"Oh, but I disagree, Mr. Worf," Garak said placing his PADD on the  
console in front of him and turning to his companion. "You are as much  
an outcast to your people as I am to my own. Both of us have chosen to  
serve Starfleet because it is not only in our best interests but also  
in the interests of those we care about. In that one way, we are  
alike."

"We are nothing alike."

"How do you mean? Because I'm a Cardassian?"

"You are not just a Cardassian. You are a spy. An assassin. A  
saboteur," Worf said, disgusted. "You have, on numerous occasions,  
betrayed those you would now call comrades. If I trusted you that  
would make me a fool."

Garak nodded thoughtfully. "You're right. I know I've done some  
unfortunate things in the past, and whether you choose to believe me  
or not, although I do not regret the motivation behind them, I do  
regret the acts themselves. Odo, Julian, and Captain Sisko have all  
accepted that and because of their ability to get past those misdeeds,  
I have decided to join Starfleet." He smiled ruefully. "I understand  
that my speaking so plainly on this subject comes as a shock to you,  
but I'm looking for a fresh start. I have been for a long time," he  
said, thinking of the monastery on Bajor. "I need to find a way to  
make up for all the damage I've done. To prove to myself that I can be  
better than I am, if not for me, then for Julian."

Worf seemed to reluctantly begin to accept what he was telling him.  
"Why are you saying this to me if you know I will not believe you  
anyway?"

"When my commission comes through, you will, technically, be my  
immediate superior. We're both assigned to the tactical department and  
we both want to see to it that the station is kept secure. We're going  
to have to learn to somewhat trust each another." He looked him  
directly in the eye. "I'm having a difficult time accepting that  
myself, Mr. Worf, but it is for our mutual benefit that we at least  
attempt to try. Don't believe I care about any of you or Deep Space  
Nine if you like, but I am marrying Dr. Bashir and in a very short  
time I will be the father of two children who will be living with us  
on that station. You know enough about Cardassians to know how we feel  
about our families. I don't expect us to become friends – I do,  
however, expect us to work together to do what must be done to keep  
them safe."

Worf's mouth tightened as he considered Garak's words. "If that's how  
you feel, I will... consider your request that we - I - give you the  
benefit of the doubt." He shot him a warning glance. "But be warned,  
Cardassian, the first time I feel that you are a danger to the  
security of the station or our mission, I will kill you and keep your  
body intact only so the doctor can identify your remains."

"Fair enough," Garak said easily, picking his PADD back up. "If you  
had said anything less I would have accused you of being the Founder."

"And had you not been so convincing in your statement, I would have  
thought the same of you," Worf replied. "Your sudden shift in  
loyalties and eagerness to aid us in defending the station against the  
Dominion made me suspect you were not yourself."

"I imagine my relationship with Dr. Bashir didn't help matters either?"

"It did not."

Garak nodded. "It was a surprise for me as well."

They sat in silence for a long time until Garak got up and headed for  
the replicator. "Do you want a drink?"

"No."

"You're quite the conversationalist, Mr. Worf. The is shaping up to be  
a long trip already." Garak scowled at the menu on the small  
replicator. "The only beverages on this ship are water, prune juice,  
and Earl Grey tea. Who installed this unit?"

"I did." Worf said without preamble.

"Figures," he muttered. He picked up the cup of hot tea as it appeared  
on the pad and then grimaced as he took a sip. "I would like to get my  
hands on this fellow Earl Grey and tell him a thing or two about tea  
leaves."

"If you don't like it, don't drink it," Worf said.

Garak ignored him. He glanced down at his console. "Is the cloaking  
device running to spec?"

"It is." Worf glanced at him. "Have you picked up something on the sensors?"

"There's a nebula near here. We could use it to avoid detection and  
get light years closer to the source of the transmission," Garak  
answered.

Worf frowned. "Tactically, that would be unwise. Our shields would be  
useless inside that nebula."

"But so would Jem'Hadar sensors," Garak pointed out. "It's a risk, but  
the answer is probably out there, Commander."

"How do you mean?"

"What better hiding place can you think of to put a Jem'Hadar base  
camp than a nebula which Federation sensors cannot penetrate?"

"True, but we would be left wide open to attacks."

"Would the cloaking device still work in the nebula?" Garak asked.

"Possibly," Worf answered. "I haven't been able to field test the  
device under those conditions since making the upgrades. It would be a  
huge risk to both our lives and this ship. I do not know if the  
rewards of such a strategy outweigh the possible risk we would be  
undertaking."

"We have no choice. We just have to have to take that chance.  
Remember, it's not just Tain we're looking for. The Maryland, the  
Proxima, the Sarajevo... Starfleet ships that have been missing in the  
Gamma Quadrant for years, their crews unaccounted for. We owe it to  
them to do everything in our power to find those men and bring them  
home." He paused. "As I have heard you say before under similar  
circumstances, it is the honorable thing to do."

"You are trying to manipulate me and I do not appreciate it." Worf  
shot him a disgusted look. "You use that word, 'honor', but your very  
tone proves that you have no idea what it means."

Garak shrugged, "Maybe not. But you do."

Worf's spine stiffened in reaction to Garak's off-hand manner as he  
adjusted his heading. "Setting course for the nebula."

"We've got a pocket of Toh-maire gas ahead."

Worf carefully plotted his course through the nebula. "Bringing her to  
zero-three-one mark three-five-five."

"Steady as she..." Garak allowed his voice to trail off as he spotted  
something strange on the sensors. "Now what could that be?"

Worf leaned over to examine the readout. Within the blue tinged  
pockets of Toh-maire gas there were a cluster of smaller, unidentified  
objects dead ahead. "Whatever they are, they're coming straight at  
us," he said grimly.

"I guess that answers our question," Garak said mostly to himself.  
"We're in the right place, but apparently the cloaking device does not  
work under these conditions. Can't wait to get back to the station so  
we can send in the report on that."

"Preparing for evasive maneuvers," Worf ordered as they both  
concentrated on the battle that lay ahead of them.

The Defiant moved quickly through the nebula, dodging and weaving to  
avoid three Jem'Hadar ships in hot pursuit. "They're firing at us!"  
Garak said, charging the weapons as one of the ships fired across  
their bow.

Worf changed course sharply, the ship shaking from the glancing shot  
fired by the closest Jem'Hadar ship.

Garak monitored the readouts. "You still haven't lost them!"

"I know," Worf gritted out as the ship rocked again.

"There are four more Jem'Hadar ships in close pursuit, and at least  
two ahead of us on an intercept course!" Garak said tersely.

Worf hit a series of commands. "We have to warn the station. There is  
only one reason for the Dominion to hide such a large fleet this close  
to the wormhole."

"You think they're planning to attack the Alpha Quadrant." It wasn't a  
question.

"I am certain of it," Worf agreed. The ship rocked again as Worf hit  
some controls.

"I'm sending a message in the code I taught the captain. Hopefully he  
has good enough recall to figure out what it says." He looked at his  
monitor. "I'm transmitting, but there's no way to know if it's getting  
through all this interference."

"Why not just send it in Standard code?" The ship rocked again and  
Worf fired phasers, destroying one of the Jem'Hadar cruisers.

The second cruiser blasted through its comrade's remains and attempted  
to complete their deadly attack. Worf fired first and the ship broke  
apart, pieces of its metal hull scattering in the vacuum of space.

"Two down, two to go," Garak said as he quickly typed out the commands  
needed to boost their signal yield. Nothing happened. "Damn. No good.  
If I send it in Standard then the Founder might intercept the text and  
initiate the attack! As long as he doesn't know we know there's a  
shapeshifter on the station we may be able to buy Sisko some time. Can  
you destroy those other two ships?" Garak asked. "If we can't get out  
a message then, hopefully, neither can they."

"We have to get clear of the nebula; without shields we're as good as  
dead," Worf said, switching directions as another of the demonically  
fast ships gained on them.

"And I thought your people were the ones who always went around saying  
'today is a good day to die'?" Garak joked grimly as the Defiant  
rocked again and one of the panels sparked, then blew behind them.

"I think Jadzia would prefer I avoid dying today if I can," he  
answered, piloting the ship sharply to the left and firing off another  
volley of phaser fire.

"Direct hit!" Garak said as the second ship disintegrated. "One more  
directly on our tail – you better move it or we're both going to be in  
Sto'Vo'Kor within the next five minutes!"

"Cardassians don't go to Sto'Vo'Kor." Worf shot back.

"Hopefully not today anyway," Garak returned. "Charging rear phasers!"

The ship shook violently as the Jem'Hadar weapon's fire nicked their  
aft section. The ship shuddered and both men were thrown forward in  
their seats.

"What happened? We've come to a dead stop!"

Worf looked down at his console, his face black with tension. "They  
have us in a tractor beam."

"Re-polarize the hull!" Garak ordered. "Try to shake us loose!"

But before either of them could take action, four Jem'Hadar soldiers  
materialized with guns drawn, aimed directly at them.

Garak and Worf looked at each other then slowly rose to their feet,  
their hands above their heads in surrender. "Are we glad to see you."  
His voice was heavily laden with sarcasm. "Can one of you gentlemen  
please point us in the direction of the wormhole?"

******


	4. Purgatory

Chapter Four: Purgatory

******

"Benjamin?"

Sisko looked up from his desk to see Dax standing at the door to his  
office. "Come in, old man."

Jadzia walked over holding a PADD, a disgruntled expression on her  
face. "We just picked up another message in that strange code Garak  
tried to decipher for us earlier. Do you want me to go ahead and send  
it to the Defiant on a secured channel? I can't make head or tails out  
of it."

Sisko held out his hand to accept the PADD, schooling his features to  
remain calm and relaxed. He glanced at the message, concentrating hard  
on the alphanumeric code Garak had taught him. It was rough going but  
after a few minutes he had translated most of it.

The reptilian looking triangle was the symbol they had worked out for  
Jem'Hadar. It took him longer to work out the rest of the message, but  
when he did it made his blood run cold. 'Build-up Imminent'.

"What is it? Can you translate it?" Dax asked curiously.

"No, not all of it," Sisko said, handing it back, his voice sounding  
hollow to his own ears. "Mr. Garak showed me a little of the code and  
from what I can tell it's basically the beginnings of a love letter.  
Probably from one of the men who died in the attack to his wife." He  
looked up at her. "Was there any more to the message? Coordinates,  
maybe? It would be nice if we could give this poor woman some  
closure."

"I think so. There was a lot of static but I can try to clear it up."  
She tilted her head and frowned. "Are you all right, Benjamin? You  
look a little pale."

"The message just...made me think about Jennifer for a minute," he  
said, sending a silent prayer to his wife for forgiveness.

"Sorry." She started to walk away then paused. "Should I still send  
this to Garak?"

If Garak sent this message encoded that means that probably he thinks  
there is a chance that the Founder still doesn't know that we are  
aware of his presence, Sisko thought to himself. He tried to put  
himself in Garak's frame of mind.

Think logically, he reminded himself. Garak wouldn't bother sending  
this message in Tain's code unless he figured he could still buy us  
some time. After a moment or two of hesitation, he decided to continue  
the operation but also decided that they still needed to heighten  
security measures without alerting the Founder as to the reason why.

"No, it's nothing he could help us with now." Benjamin licked his  
lips, which had begun to feel very dry all of the sudden. As Dax  
started to leave he called out, "Hold on a minute, old man. Do you  
happen to remember the last time we conducted an station-wide  
emergency drill?"

Jadzia snorted. "Not for a while. We've had so many real emergencies  
that we haven't needed to bother with drills, why?"

"I was just going through my paperwork and realized we haven't had an  
emergency drill in, well, long enough that I have some paper-pusher  
from HQ screaming for my reports. Starfleet requires we have at least  
one drill a month in forward installations like this one. Since we've  
missed the last several months' worth, it's time to shake things up  
around here!" He gave her a dangerous grin. "Have the entire station  
stay on orange alert for the next thirty-six hours or until I give the  
order to stand down. All furlough is cancelled, all hands on deck, and  
everyone better be button bright and shiny in time for the staff  
meeting at 1700 hours. Tell everyone that although this is only a  
drill I want it treated like the real thing." He took a breath. "All  
departments are to begin emergency procedures and all the shops are to  
go through evacuation drills. If I catch anyone lag-assing or treating  
it like a joke they're going on report and their immediate superiors  
will be on the chopping block with them, understood?"

"Aye, sir!" Dax grinned as she snapped to attention. "I love it when  
you go hard-ass, Benjamin."

"Expect it to only get harder from here on out, old man," Sisko said grimly.

After Dax left, Sisko reached for his baseball that always sat in its  
stand on his desk and squeezed it until the leather made a satisfying  
squeak of pain. As a captain he had always borne the burden of knowing  
that he would have to stand alone with the weight of his people's  
lives directly on his conscience, but now he was risking not just the  
lives of Worf and Garak but the entirety of the Alpha Quadrant on his  
gut instinct and faith in a man he had only just begun to tentatively  
trust.

If he alerted Starfleet headquarters and requested they send  
reinforcements, that Dominion fleet would be on the move within hours.  
It would take the bulk of the Federation fleet to hold off a  
full-scale attack and even at maximum warp it would take at least two  
days for those ships to make it to them.

He thought about that long and hard. As long as the Founder didn't  
know they knew about him, they had the element of surprise on their  
side, but as they didn't know whose form he inhabited, so did he.

Stalemate.

Garak was right. Alert the Founder and they would risk a full on  
attack on the station and he had foolishly sent the Defiant with them  
in the hopes the cloaking device would allow them to get in and out  
without drawing enemy fire.

He rubbed his eyes wearily with one hand as he squeezed his baseball  
with the other. He needed a back-up plan. He needed ships with serious  
firepower to make their way to the station without alerting the  
Founder.

He considered his options:

He could arrest Kira, O'Brien, and Bashir, but if one of them was not  
the Founder then he would have not only weakened his command crew, but  
also tipped off their enemy.

He could alert Starfleet on an encoded channel, but if the Chief or  
Kira was the Founder either of them could easily hack into his comm  
terminal and intercept the message. Unlike Mr. Garak, he had never  
thought about designing an elaborate code that only he and another  
member of Starfleet Command could decipher. Any code he sent would be  
standardized enough for either Kira's or O'Brien's doppelganger to  
translate. It wouldn't work.

Or would it...

Sisko squeezed the ball harder. Maybe he did know some private codes after all.

It was risky and not a route he wanted to go, but it was the only plan  
he could come up with that might offer them at least a shred of hope.  
He punched the command into his comm terminal and waited.

//Ben? Well I'll be damned! How's it going down in the front lines?  
Between the Klingons and the Cardies you got yourself a real shit-fit  
down there!//

"Admiral Gilhouly! Good to see you again, sir. We're bruised but not  
broken, and yourself?" Sisko said in a booming voice.

//Admiral? Since when have you ever acted respectable with me?//

Sisko grinned. "Since that last poker game where you cleaned me out of  
a month's pay."

Gilhouly laughed, accentuating the deep grooves around his mouth.  
//Yeah, and I don't recall you paying up yet!//

Fitz Gilhouly was a tough, weather-beaten man with sun-bleached blond  
hair and the hands of a long-haul fisherman, coarse and rough with  
calluses. When he shook your hand you felt it for days, and, unlike a  
lot of Admirals who took to desk duty like ducks to water, Gilhouly  
was a warrior through and through. If there was a forward position in  
a fight, his ship was the one leading the charge.

Fitz was enough of a rebel to keep him out of Headquarters and in the  
trenches and enough of a fighter to earn the respect he was due. He'd  
been Sisko's superior officer in the Utopia Planetia Fleet Yards and  
he was a man Sisko knew he could trust.

Best of all, his ship was Galaxy-class, loaded to the gills, and only  
a day or two away.

Now all he had to do was get him out here.

"You up for helping me out with a drill I'm conducting on DS9?" Sisko  
asked casually, tossing his ball from one hand to the other.

//Drill?// Fitz snorted. //Hell Ben, as much enemy fire as that tin  
wheel of yours gets, the last damn thing your people need is a drill!  
They got it down pat by now.//

"I agree, but you know Starfleet and their regulations." He shrugged  
casually. "Anyway, I was thinking about those drills you conducted  
back in the shipyard. We have the defensive down, but they need more  
experience with offense. I have the Defiant out on a refit, but even  
if she were here it would be nice to have a Galaxy class vessel for  
the maintenance crews to cut their teeth on."

//Got 'em green, huh?// Gilhouly asked, rubbing his chin. //You know I  
love to kick enlisted ass into shape, but we're a little busy down  
here. Wouldn't look good to cut and run just so we can help a few  
younguns cut teeth. I hear Abramson is up for anything. If you can  
hold up your drill, I can order him down there for you.//

"Too bad," Ben said slowly. "I was looking forward to showing you  
around this place. I heard you just unloaded your third wife and I  
happen to know of a redheaded Dabo girl down in Quark's who reminds me  
of that little number you used to go with back in the day."

//A redhead?// Fitz gave him a lecherous grin. //Happen to know if the  
carpet matches the drapes?//

Now was the time to go for broke, he told himself. "Reminds me of that  
little gal you picked up on Thalos V, Imogene. That was her name  
right?"

Admiral Gilhouly's eyes hardened for a moment but his smile stayed in place.

//Imogene, now there was a girl a man could never forget.//

"I figured you'd say that," Sisko said, nodding ever so slightly.

Gilhouly gave him a long, searching look. //You tell that gal to hold  
on. Her next sugardaddy is less than two days away.// He smiled  
dangerously. //If you're really in the mood for some cutthroat poker,  
I can invite some of the boys down and make a real party out of it.//

Thank you, God, Sisko thought silently. He got it. "Who'd you have in mind?"

//Like I said, Abramson's always up for anything and Figueiredo on the  
Venture is a real shark. Good player, just have to watch how she deals  
the cards,// Gilhouly said jovially, but his eyes told Ben all he  
needed to know.

Imogene was the name Fitz Gilhouly gave a prototype ship they had  
designed together in the Utopia Planetia Shipyards, the precursor to  
the Defiant. Her first mission was to give aid to a colony under  
attack on Thalos V where she and her entire crew were destroyed before  
backup could arrive.

He had named her after his first wife because, as he had joked,  
Imogene was a redhead and redheads always meant trouble.

Gilhouly was coming loaded for bear and bringing with him his ship,  
the USS Ulysses, Veldon 'Butch' Abramson (who, if he recalled  
correctly, billed himself as 'the toughest Jew in Starfleet') on the  
Titan, and Gabriela Figueiredo on the Venture. It was an all-out task  
force.

"Bring 'em on! I can't trust any of my own crew. Every time we play  
together they wipe me out because they don't know any better. I can't  
seem to get them to understand that the superior officer takes the  
pot." Translation: I have a confederate on my team and I don't know  
who it is.

//Aw hell Ben, you just haven't housebroken 'em yet. Take my crew, for  
instance. I got 'em so well trained that last year's poker marathon  
bought me a week on Risa.// Translation: Message received. My crew is  
secure.

"Just get here quick; the drill ends in 36 hours starting now." Sisko  
smiled, his mouth tense.

//Winning a couple of weeks on Risa with that Dabo Girl of yours is as  
good a reason as I've ever heard lately to go to Warp 9. I'll get up  
with Abramson and Figueiredo. I'll let 'em know that first one to dock  
deals. Let's hope the Venture blows a nacelle. Fig deals me shit and  
busted flushes every goddamn time!//

"I heard the Ulysses got a few upgrades since I saw her last. Mind if  
I come aboard to look around when you get here?" In other words, I  
don't know if the walls have ears so DS9 isn't safe for debriefing.

//Mi casa es su casa, mi amigo. On our way; just get ready to hand me  
my money. Gilhouly out!//

Sisko leaned back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. The  
cavalry was on its way and, hopefully, the element of surprise was  
still in their favor. When Mr. Garak got back he was going to treat  
him to dinner.

Whether he knew it or not, Garak and Tain's private code had inspired  
him, thereby (hopefully) enabling him to save their collective asses.

******

Sisko looked over the senior members of his crew with a hard eye. One  
of them was the Founder, but damned if he knew who it was. Despite  
what Garak had told him about the doctor, Julian Bashir was still at  
the head of his list. If he wasn't the Founder then that meant the  
blood test the young lieutenant had developed was defective. Julian  
was many things; brash, idealistic, and even naive at times, but he  
was good at his job. Then again, the Founders were a highly evolved  
people. Maybe not even someone as brilliant as Julian Bashir could be  
expected to prepare for every contingency, but he had a hard time  
believing it.

Then again, he didn't want to believe the Chief could be a Founder  
either. Keiko surely would have noticed something, wouldn't she? Or  
for that matter, what if it wasn't the crew at all. What if it was a  
member of their families? What if Keiko was the Founder, or some other  
member of the crew?

What if it was Jake?

He shook off that disturbing thought. He'd know if his son were a  
shapeshifter. He was at least sure of that.

Then there was Kira. She had changed in the last few months, but for  
the better. Still strong-willed and independent, her surrogacy had  
added an element of softness to her steel. The idea...no. It didn't  
make sense. None of it made sense.

It could drive a man insane, trying to figure this out.

Sisko cleared his throat. "According to Command, we, meaning I,  
haven't been keeping up with my paperwork regarding battle drills and  
such. Mostly because we haven't had time for any." He surveyed the  
room, examining each person's expression. "Admiral Gilhouly's ship,  
the USS Ulysses, and two other Galaxy-class ships will be docking here  
within the next 24 to 48 hours. Each one of you are to treat the next  
36 hours as though we were really engaged in a full-out attack and  
have your people ready for anything. Chief!" He turned to O'Brien.  
"All three ships will be docking almost simultaneously. I want us to  
look good out there. Have your crew primed and ready." He grinned.  
"You have an added incentive to shine here, as one of those ships will  
be the USS Venture."

"Captain Figueiredo's ship?" O'Brien asked in surprise, then smiled.  
"Yes, sir! I haven't seen her since I left the Rutledge!"

"Dr. Bashir, how are your people doing?" Sisko asked, turning to his CMO.

Julian tightened his lips a little in an expression of irritation.  
"We'll be fine, but I don't have to tell you how impossible a  
situation this is going to be. On top of all our regular duties and  
the blood screenings, we're already stretched pretty thin."

"I'm sure the other ship's CMOs can lend a hand," Sisko answered in a  
voice that would brook no arguments. "Integrate some of their medical  
staff into your infirmary and let them help with the blood screening  
process. We'll also have to have their crews tested as well. You'll be  
expected to debrief their medical staff when they arrive and share  
your methods with them. Starfleet will want to start using your test  
on all their crews which inhabit the space near the Gamma Quadrant."

"My mother is scheduled to arrive on the station sometime tomorrow,  
captain. Will this drill be affecting the normal trade routes and  
incoming transports?" the doctor asked.

"Good question," Kira said. "A lot of the merchants are getting antsy  
about the mandatory evacuation drills. How is this going to affect  
incoming shipments of supplies?"

"We'll suspend all incoming traffic for the next three days except  
those already en route." Sisko turned his attention to Kira. "Make  
sure all the merchants know that any shipments they have already  
scheduled will be allowed to dock, but no new supplies may be  
scheduled to arrive before 1900 hours on Wednesday."

"How do you want security handled?" Odo asked.

"I need you to continue to take on Mr. Worf's duties and integrate the  
crews as you have been doing. I'm bringing us up to level orange alert  
status until Wednesday evening, so we need everyone working together  
on this." He leaned back in his chair and smiled, his posture relaxed  
and confident. "When the Admiral gets back to Headquarters I want him  
to say that Deep Space Nine is a well-oiled machine, people! Any  
questions?"

Dax raised her hand. "Do you want me to continue monitoring incoming  
transmissions?"

"Yes. Until Mr. Garak gets back I need you in Ops." Sisko nodded.  
"Have your ensigns prepare to debrief and discuss all issues related  
to this Dominion situation as soon as our guests arrive. That goes for  
you as well, doctor." He turned back to Julian. "Starfleet wants you  
to discuss the Jem'Hadar and Founder physiology with the other CMOs.  
We're going to have to get used to having more Federation traffic come  
through until things start calming down around here."

"*If* they ever calm down," O'Brien muttered.

"Agreed," Sisko said. He looked around the table, willing his tone and  
mannerisms to exude honesty. "I'm not too thrilled with having to  
throw this drill either right now. We're stretched thin as it is, but  
you have to do what you have to do. I'm counting on all of you to make  
us look good. If any of your people start acting like this is a game,  
and this goes for the Bajoran crews and the civilian inhabitants as  
well," he added, looking pointedly at Kira and Odo, "I want their  
names on my desk." He folded his fingers. "These drills save lives.  
We're in a bad situation right now politically, and this mess with the  
Dominion isn't helping. I want this done right." He examined each of  
his men. No one appeared overly concerned about the task force  
arriving so, hopefully, the Founder would accept what he had said on  
face value. Only time would tell. "If there are no other questions,  
then? Dismissed."

******

Julian walked toward the Infirmary, his mind replaying the words of the captain.

Three Galaxy-class Federation ships would be arriving the same day as  
his 'mother'. This could make her rethink their timeline.

He frowned. Until then he just had to behave as though it were  
business as usual. He had been monitoring all outgoing messages from  
the station for a while and so far nothing appeared out of place.  
Still, this sudden 'drill' had him concerned.

He wondered how it would affect his assignment. He had intended to  
discuss with her the idea of–

"Good evening, doctor!"

He turned and smiled at one of his nurses and made small talk before  
going to his office to work on some reports. No use buying trouble, he  
reminded himself.

He glanced at the holoimage on his desk as he sat down. It was a  
picture of himself and Garak during Kirayoshi's naming ceremony. He  
caressed the picture of Garak with his index finger. They both looked  
so happy together. Garak was cupping his cheek tenderly and smiling.  
They hadn't even realized Keiko O'Brien had taken their picture until  
she gave him this the next day. He immediately had it framed.

He didn't even know why he'd done it. It wasn't for his cover. The  
real Bashir never kept any mementos or pictures on his desk. He had no  
family albums in his quarters or souvenirs from home. He'd had to  
piece together his character from his personal logs and by listening  
to his staff. He'd even spent his first week on Deep Space Nine posing  
as a woman and allowed Bashir to 'seduce' him in order to get some  
insight into his character. Even in bed, Bashir held himself back  
emotionally. It had been an exercise in futility.

Why he kept the picture, he couldn't say. The framed holoimage was so  
out of place for the Julian Bashir his medical staff had known that  
many of them had commented to him on it. All positive, but still,  
curiosity tinged their voices. Dr. Bashir was changing, and most of  
them believed it was for the better. Only he wasn't really Julian  
Bashir.

He kept having to remind himself of that.

It wasn't easy though. Even he realized early on that he was living  
life as Julian Bashir far better than the 'real' one ever did, and  
Garak was a big part of the reason why. It still bewildered him why  
Bashir had never taken the opportunities presented to him where the  
Cardassian was concerned. Part of him was grateful he hadn't, though.  
Garak was an exceptionally skilled observer. Had they engaged in a  
sexual affair before he had appropriated Bashir's identity, he doubted  
he would have been able to stay unnoticed for so long.

Then again, the identity of Julian Bashir wasn't even really Julian  
Bashir's. It had been fictional before he had even stolen it. The  
human who occupied it merely went through the motions of being the man  
he wanted the world to see. Wasn't it ironic then that he, a Founder,  
a being who had no identity per se, gained one by inhabiting the life  
of a man who could never trust anyone enough to be himself?

He picked up a PADD and began to schedule assignments for his staff.

'His' staff. Another oddity he had picked up since taking on this  
assignment. Pride in a job well done, and he did do his job very well.  
The solids, in many ways, still disgusted him with their penchant for  
chaos and need to hurt one another, but he enjoyed the work  
nonetheless. It wasn't the first time he'd inhabited the identity of a  
doctor. He had a skill for medicine, which is why he chose Dr. Bashir  
when he arrived to Deep Space Nine.

He was the obvious choice for many reasons, but he could have chosen  
another. Sisko would have been the best choice. He'd almost decided on  
either the captain or that Kasidy Yates woman when Bashir approached  
him at the bar of Quark's.

The sex had been perfunctory and vague, just like Julian Bashir's  
entire character. He wanted to be better than he was, but he held back  
the best parts of himself for some reason. It was the sex that  
convinced him to become Bashir. That and his connection to the  
Destroyer, Elim Garak.

He had thought through listening to station gossip for that first week  
that Bashir was Garak's lover, but he quickly dismissed it. Julian  
Bashir was too closed off to ever trust the tailor enough to be in any  
type of relationship with him. He'd specifically said that he was  
afraid Garak would discover his enhancements if they ever deepened  
their relationship, but he suspected that Bashir wanted Garak to find  
out about them subconsciously.

After all, as Garak himself once pointed out, you don't mention your  
deepest fears and such in your personal logs if you never want anyone  
to find out about them. Maybe Bashir hoped Garak would read them and  
take the decision out of his hands. In his opinion it made the CMO  
appear cowardly, even though he knew that wasn't the truth. Bashir  
might be an emotional cripple but he wasn't a coward. He just wouldn't  
have been able to handle a man like Garak. No, the real Julian was  
just another solid hiding from himself. Garak was far more complex  
than he could ever understand.

But he understood the Cardassian very well. They were the same in a  
lot of ways. Both had learned to shift their personalities to fit  
their circumstances while never forgetting exactly who they were and  
what their job was. Garak was, in a word, magnificent.

He smiled and eyed the picture again. He no longer thought of Garak as  
the Destroyer. Now he was just Garak, the only solid he had ever met  
who could possibly understand the true meaning of order. It was but  
one of many revelations he had had about the Cardassian.

He hadn't meant to get so emotionally involved with his assignment.  
Garak was supposed to be just a target. In the hundred or so years  
that he had traveled the galaxy, he'd never allowed a target to get to  
him like this before now. He found it both troubling and exhilarating.

The only thing he found even more troubling was the fact that he was  
enjoying being Julian Bashir. He'd begun to think of himself that way,  
even when Garak wasn't around. He was even getting used to the little  
inconveniences of being solid. He now understood why Odo was so  
attached to this world.

Whatever happened tomorrow, he knew the leader would not authorize him  
to put their plan into action until she had talked to the constable.  
After that, he wasn't sure. Garak wasn't here, so she might have him  
wait until he returned. Part of him hoped she would tell him to wait,  
but a larger part of him wished she would go on and give the order.

At least, he thought sadly, Garak would be safe then.

******

When they completed their transport, Garak and Worf found themselves  
in a domed biosphere of an asteroid. The utilitarian buildings and  
regimented behavior of some of the other humanoids he could see  
wandering the chain-linked perimeter put him in the mind frame that  
what they were looking at was a high-security prison.

He'd seen worse, Garak thought. He studied the other 'guests' of the  
Dominion who peered at them from around the corners of buildings and  
out of the small, barred windows. Their clothes were worn and dingy,  
but they appeared to be somewhat clean and well-nourished. Apparently  
the Dominion has some standard of decency, he thought. One kept  
prisoners in squalor and filth to demean them and break their spirits,  
but when Garak had been an interrogator he's never really agreed with  
that philosophy. He preferred to give his prisoners toilet facilities  
and clean water. Kindness usually broke through where cruelty would  
merely strengthen a man's resolve. Plus he'd hated the stink.

Either the Jem'Hadar weren't interested in breaking the will of their  
prisoners or they had sensitive noses. Perhaps it was both.

There was a contingent of Jem'Hadar soldiers before them. Worf  
stiffened immediately beside him and his teeth bared slightly in an  
almost inaudible growl. Garak felt the scales on the back of his neck  
itch. This Hadar was obviously the alpha male of the pack. He was  
broader and taller than the others and his eyes sparked with an  
intelligence and freewill the others did not seem to possess. Worf,  
being Klingon, could smell the danger wafting off of him. Garak, not  
being quite so close to his reptilian ancestors as Klingons were to  
their canine ones, only smelled the oils used to sharpen their blades  
and the metal armor they wore. His other senses, though, picked up on  
all the other subtle clues that told him this man was the leader.

He stepped forward.

"Ah, good. You look like the man in charge. I was just trying to  
explain to your colleagues here that this is all an unfortunate  
misunderstanding," Garak began with a slight smile. He didn't expect  
the Hadar to buy it; he was just testing to see what his reaction  
would be.

The Hadar reached out and grabbed Garak by the throat in a vise-like  
grip, pulling up slightly so the Cardassian had to balance his weight  
on his toes. He grabbed at the Hadar's wrist and attempted to loosen  
his hold on his throat as he gasped for breath. As the blood slowed to  
his brain, Garak thought, "Okay, so maybe that wasn't the right way to  
start off the conversation after all."

"Cardassians are all alike," the Hadar said in a curiously calm tone.  
"You talk too much."

Worf grabbed the Hadar leader's wrist and growled, "Let him go!"

One of the guards placed a gun to the base of Worf's neck. The leader  
of the Hadar looked at him coldly, his grip still steely and unmoved  
by the amount of pressure Worf was exerting against his wrist. "I give  
the orders here. Release me or die."

Worf tightened his grip and ignored the phaser rifle at the back of his skull.

Garak felt himself go faint as colored dots swam in front of his eyes.  
"Worf...do as he says!"

Worf took a moment to think it over, then coolly released the Hadar's  
arm. The leader smiled then let go of Garak, who immediately fell to  
his knees, gasping for air.

He rubbed his neck ridges and swallowed. Nothing appeared broken, but  
he knew the Hadar could have snapped his neck in a heartbeat. Why he  
hadn't done so was curious. Obviously, he had meant for it to be a  
show of power for Worf's benefit. The Hadar hadn't really seemed all  
that interested in him other than as a means of getting the Klingon's  
attention. Interesting.

Interesting and not something he wanted to try again, he thought ruefully.

"This is Internment Camp Three Seven One. You are here because you are  
enemies of the Dominion. There is no release, no escape... except  
death." The Hadar leader said without emotion. There was only the  
truth of their situation reflected in his eyes.

Despite himself, Garak began to feel trickles of nervousness travel up  
his spine. He had survived for this long by learning how to read his  
enemy better than his enemy could read him. What he saw in the posture  
of the Hadar leader wasn't arrogance or bravado, it was cold, hard  
fact.

They were led away by some guards into a small, squat building where  
they were scanned, then a blood sample was taken. Both men flinched  
when the needle pierced their necks but neither fought back. The  
medical Hadar walked over to a terminal and inserted their DNA slides.  
After a moment, he walked to the door and their guards jammed their  
phaser rifles into the center of both Worf and Garak's backs urging  
them to follow.

The Jem'Hadar who took their blood approached the leader. "They have  
been scanned. They have no weapons and their identities have been  
confirmed."

"Very well." The large Hadar turned then to Worf and Garak. "You will  
be sheltered in barracks six. You are free to move about the compound.  
But remember... beyond the atmospheric dome there's nothing but  
airless vacuum and barren rock. Leave the dome, even for an instant,  
and you die."

"We'll keep that in mind," Garak said dryly.

The leader ignored him and instead studied Worf for a beat.

"I've been waiting for another Klingon." He said enigmatically then  
walked away without another word.

The Jem'Hadar guards prodded them with their rifles again. As they  
followed the medical Jem'Hadar as Garak now thought of him, Worf  
caught his eye. He knew what his companion was thinking. The Klingons  
had been infiltrated as well. Despite himself, Garak began to admire  
the elegance of the Founder's methodology. It made him wonder how many  
changelings there already were in the Alpha Quadrant and just how many  
of their kind now occupied the highest levels of the Federation, the  
Klingon Empire, and Cardassia, just to name a few.

As they rounded the corner and entered a large clear space in the  
center of the compound near where they had first beamed in they heard  
shouting, grunts, and the slap of flesh on flesh. A half dozen  
Jem'Hadar soldiers appeared to be watching a battle between a  
Jem'Hadar and a Klingon, whose face was shadowed in darkness, his  
blood soaked and tangled mane of hair hanging over his features  
obscuring his identity. He fell then staggered to his feet, wearily  
slapping one of the two poles at each end of the 'arena'. The pole lit  
up and chimed.

Apparently this was some sort of Jem'Hadar sporting event, Garak  
surmised. The Klingon, however, didn't appear to be having a lot of  
fun. For that matter, it was clear that the Klingon was losing. The  
warrior fell to his knees again as the Hadar soldier landed another  
vicious blow. He tried to struggle to his feet, his knees shaking with  
effort. Garak felt Worf tense up beside him as the bloodied Klingon's  
face came into view.

"General Martok," he breathed in shock.

Martok looked at them both, but his expression was blank. He obviously  
had never met them before. Garak thought back to the many times Martok  
had been to the station. Each time he had come to DS9, Garak knew he  
had seen Worf in some capacity. Just how long had the Founders been  
infiltrating the Alpha Quadrant, Garak wondered.

It had been a while, Garak surmised. The scar tissue over his left eye  
was thick and well healed. He stumbled again and fell under a barrage  
of deadly blows, barely managing afterward to touch a post to stay in  
the fight when his Jem'Hadar opponent launched into him again, hitting  
him with a vicious punch/kick combination. Martok fell flat on his  
back, barely conscious. Garak found himself holding his breath as he  
watched him struggle weakly, his wounds and exhaustion keeping him  
down even as he willed himself to get back on his feet. The Jem'Hadar,  
sensing victory, started to go for Martok in order to administer the  
coup de grace, but the leader held up his hand. The warrior froze.

"Enough," he announced in an almost bored tone of voice. "It's over."

The Jem'Hadar combatant nodded in acknowledgment before he and the  
other soldiers began to disperse. The First turned to Worf, again  
ignoring Garak entirely. "But for you," he said slowly, "it's just  
beginning."

"Charming place," Garak muttered as the guards walked away. "Great  
atmosphere, lots of hospitality. I wonder how the food is."

Worf wasn't paying attention to him, however. He started toward the  
bloodied and battered general who was struggling to rise from the  
thick dust coating the ground of the asteroid. Garak rushed over to  
help as Worf bent down to check on the exhausted and gravely injured  
Klingon.

"General..."

Martok, obviously exhausted, his one good eye rapidly swelling shut,  
allowed them to help him to his feet. "Do I know you?" he asked,  
squinting at Worf.

"I am Worf, son of Mogh," he answered stiffly but proudly.

"I've heard of you," Martok wheezed, clutching his side.

Worf shot Garak a look of shock. The Cardassian immediately understood  
why. For at least a few years now, Worf and the Klingon general had  
been acquainted. That the real Martok had never met him could only  
mean...

"How long have you been here?" Garak asked quietly.

The general's face screwed up in a look of bitterness tinged with  
pain. "Two years." Leaning on them heavily, he struggled back to his  
feet, then tried to walk under his own steam. From his limp, Garak  
surmised his leg was probably broken and the way he was wheezing  
worried him. He continued to offer his arm as support although he was  
a little worried that the general would be offended by the offer.

"Aren't you Klingons supposed to kill yourselves when you're taken  
prisoner?" Garak asked quietly. He didn't say it sarcastically. He  
just couldn't imagine someone facing this kind of torture for two  
years without seeking an end to it one way or the other.

Worf's eyes flickered with anger, although it was not directed at  
Garak. "Not when there are enemies to fight."

"Or hope of escape," Martok said softly before looking at Worf, then  
Garak. "If you are Worf... then you must be Garak. He said you would  
come."

Garak started in surprise, even though he knew exactly who the general  
was referring to.

Tain.

******

Garak looked around the austere prison quarters carefully. His first  
impression was that they were surprisingly clean. The steel walls and  
metal bunks didn't exactly look as though they were built for comfort,  
but the sheets were clean and, other than a slightly musty chalk smell  
from the dust which was piled outside of the door, the inhabitants had  
very little body odor, which meant they must have access to sanitary  
toilet facilities and showers.

There were only four prisoners present besides themselves; two  
Romulans, a male and a female, and a Breen, dressed in cold-weather  
gear, and lying as motionless as a corpse on his bunk. The fourth  
prisoner lay unconscious on a bunk at the far side of the room, his  
back turned to them and his features bathed in shadow. Still, there  
was no mistaking who it was.

Garak walked over to the far bunk slowly. He sensed that Martok and  
Worf were following him, but he didn't bother to look. "Tain," he  
breathed softly.

"What's wrong with him?" Worf asked Martok, his voice hushed and  
respectful. Garak felt a rush of gratitude at that.

"It's his heart," Martok coughed, clinging to his side.

Garak's heart lurched, but he kept his tone distant and even. "Really?  
There are a lot of people who'd say he doesn't have one."

Martok ignored the bitter edge in Garak's tone. "He was convinced you  
would come."

The Klingon's undisguised sympathy was nearly Garak's undoing. He  
closed his eyes then opened them again once he had a check on his  
emotions. "He knew I had no choice..." Garak looked down on the  
features of the man he had once thought of as a god. He looked so much  
smaller now, he thought. How could this have happened to you, Tain?  
You, of all people, were never supposed to grow old. He laid a gentle  
hand on the elder man's shoulder and winced as he felt just how  
brittle he had become. His muscles were atrophied with disuse; his  
skin was as soft and as thin as tissue paper. "Tain. Tain. I'm here."

Tain slowly opened his eyes and stared at Garak. "My message," he  
whispered. "It got through."

"It did," Garak nodded, keeping his tone neutral.

"Where are the others?"

"There are no others. Just Commander Worf and I."

"You allowed yourselves to be taken prisoner?" Tain frowned, obviously  
disappointed. "I taught you better than that. Living on that station  
has dulled your wits," he said accusingly before turning away.

Garak blinked, his sadness at seeing this once proud man reduced to an  
invalid replaced by shock and anger. "That's it? After I've come all  
this way? After all I've been through? That's all you have to say to  
me?"

Tain glared at him. "What do you want me to say?"

Garak's mouth tightened in anger. "I want you to say "Thank you, Elim.  
Your loyalty is most gratifying. I knew I could count on you."

Tain blinked, his strength leaving him rapidly. He took a deep breath  
and said, matter-of-factly, "But I couldn't count on you, could I? All  
you've done is doom us both," before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Garak looked down on Tain, trying to sort out exactly what it was he  
was feeling at that moment. Finally, he just gave up. He took the thin  
wool blanket draped over his mentor and pulled it up so that it  
covered his shoulders.

He turned to Martok who was looking at him with undisguised sympathy.  
"We need to talk."

******

"Before this asteroid was converted into a prison, the Dominion used  
to mine ultritium here. There was no dome and each of these barracks  
had its own life support system embedded in the walls."

Garak squinted at Martok in disbelief. "And Tain was able to modify  
the life support system to create a subspace transmitter?"

The general nodded. "There's a crawl space just behind those panels.  
He'd spend hours in there, working. Every day for months on end." He  
smiled and shook his head in admiration. "Cardassians. They're a  
clever people. Especially that one." He looked over at Tain's bunk and  
frowned slightly. "But within a few days, at best, he will be dead."

Worf looked first to Tain then turned to Martok. "Then it is up to us  
to be clever."

One of the Romulans turned from the window and called out, "They're  
releasing him from isolation."

"Good," Martok said, his relief evident.

"Who?" Worf asked.

"A friend."

Martok rose up from his seat and motioned for Worf and Garak to  
follow. The Romulans joined them but the Breen did not answer or make  
a sound. Garak briefly looked back at Tain then walked out the door  
with his companions.

A few dozen prisoners had lined up outside the barracks to watch as  
this mysterious 'friend' appeared from the isolation cell.

"Do you suppose it is our crewman from the station?" Worf asked quietly.

"I'm willing to hazard a guess and say yes." Garak answered. He  
scanned the crowd. "I don't see any other familiar faces, so it has to  
be."

"The Chief?" Worf asked.

"If it were O'Brien, they wouldn't have needed Tain to work on the  
transmitter. I say it's probably either Kira or someone close to  
command but not in Starfleet," Garak replied.

"Keiko or Ms. Yates?"

"Or one of a thousand others," Garak said grimly. "If they've had the  
general here for two years it could be anyone."

Two guards came out of the cell half-dragging, half-pushing a  
bedraggled human behind them. Garak gasped and turned white.

No, he thought. This was a lie. This...something wasn't right.

It was a trick. It had to be a trick.

"Garak," Worf said quietly, his eyes first going over the Cardassian's  
pale features, then he turned his gaze on to the prisoner.

******

"Ten minutes!" the Jem'Hadar guard shouted, thumping on the door for emphasis.

Bashir frowned down at the portable sonic shower he was using to clean  
his uniform. He suspected they had given it to him because he still  
smelled too gamy for the delicate sensibilities of the Hadar, or  
perhaps the Vorta in charge wanted to prove to somebody that the  
Dominion was harsh but not as cruel as the Klingons or Cardassians  
could be. At least it got the job done, he grumbled to himself, as  
clouds of noxious grime arose from the fabric.

He hadn't realized how filthy he had become over the past month.

He ran a hand over his face, wishing for a moment that the shower had  
a shaving head, then began to pull his now-clean (or at least cleaner)  
clothing back on. Too bad, he thought, that they got him on Meezan  
Four; a week later and he'd have been wearing the new warmer uniform.

He zipped up the jacket, slipped on his socks (what was left of them)  
and his shoes, and rose to stand by the door. He could already hear  
the voices of other prisoners as they congregated by his door. As he  
waited for the Hadar to release the bolt, he wondered briefly if the  
rescue mission had already taken place. Had he been forgotten? Was  
there another ship-

The bolt suddenly slid; the door opened; two Hadar guards came through  
the door and (for show, Bashir suspected) dragged him out into the  
main corridor. He caught fleeting glimpses of Martok and the two  
Romulans (so no rescue yet, he thought) before coming face-to-face  
with - Worf and Garak.

He stared at the two of them for a second before giving Worf a grim  
smile. "You too-"

But then he noticed the look in Garak's eyes.

******

Garak had always prided himself on being the type of man who could  
handle anything.

He rarely lost his temper, for example. Anger only clouded one's  
judgment and was, therefore, counterproductive. He never allowed  
himself to be shocked or overly saddened or feel any extreme emotions.  
Perhaps that was why he felt an affinity with Vulcan philosophy and  
meditation. They were a people who understood the dangers and risks  
associated with not keeping a firm grip on one's innermost feelings  
and desires. Garak had been accused by many a lover of being somewhat  
emotionally barren and stagnant, but it was out of experience married  
with wisdom, not because of some emotional defect brought on by the  
lack of a happy childhood as some had speculated. Extreme emotion  
makes one vulnerable and easily manipulated. It would not do to have  
an enemy read your every thought and fear as easily as a book, he had  
reasoned.

His Vulcan lover, Sek, had once told him that although he had an  
ordered mind, he also had an expressive face. It was true. He'd always  
known that his expressive face was his greatest weakness, so he had  
adapted a sarcastic edge to his voice and mannerisms in order to  
counter what Tain had once called the single flaw of his otherwise  
perfect creation. Every statement was delivered with the lilt of a  
question and every question was said in the guise of a statement.  
Keeping his adversaries guessing was what he did best. It was a honed  
skill, and he was an artisan, the best at his craft.

Elim Garak was an enigma. He had designed himself to be so. Mystery  
always followed him like a shadow. No one could ever really be sure  
what he was up to or what he really knew. He had been confident in  
that fact...until now.

As he stared into the face of the man who looked like Julian Bashir,  
he felt his mind split into two separate schools of thought. The  
first, was all emotion, jumbled and wild. Unfortunately, this was the  
ruling brain of the moment. He felt his face pale and his jaw drop as  
his sharp eyes took in the image standing before him. What hit him  
hardest was Julian's face. The eyes, especially. They were...

Garak swallowed, his mouth dry.

Every detail was there, every nuance of sound and smallest  
imperfection represented. Julian's big brown eyes, light one minute,  
dark the next, the right eye just ever so slightly larger than the  
left, a small streak of green and gold glinting among the darker  
colors of his iris. The patterns and colors as individual as a  
fingerprint, permanently imbedded into his brain. The subtleties of  
the patterns came in and out of view as Julian blinked, his pupils  
dilating, their irises seeming to change color; melanin and muscles,  
sight and beauty - almost unnoticeable to most, but not to him. On his  
forehead, just at the hairline, was a small white scar, just a few  
millimeters in length, highlighted now by a smudge of dirt. He had  
gotten it when he and the Chief were on some war-torn world a few  
years back. He never bothered having it removed, saying it wasn't  
disfiguring and he wanted to keep the memories that came with it.

There were other small details that Garak absorbed in the few seconds  
he was able to keep his eyes fixed to the young man. His smell, now  
stale and somewhat sweaty, but there. He knew that smell. His hair,  
his hands, his...uniform.

"How long?" Garak asked. He no longer recognized his own voice. It  
sounded hollow and faint, the voice of an old man.

Bashir's eyes caught his in confusion. "I'm not sure. More than a  
month, less than four. Time gets away from you here. One minute I was  
at that burn treatment conference on Meezan IV. I just went to bed one  
night and woke up here."

It was obvious Martok sensed something, the rational part of Garak  
noted. A dangerous undercurrent was beginning to form. Martok spoke,  
his eyes flicking from Garak to Bashir and then back to Worf. "The  
same thing happened to me... except I was hunting Sabre bear on Kang's  
Summit. Little did I know that I was being stalked as well." His eyes  
now filled with shame and self-loathing. "And now I'm told the  
changeling that replaced me has caused the deaths of countless  
Klingons. It is a grave dishonor."

"You are not to blame," Worf said simply, but he wasn't quite looking  
at Martok when he said it. His eyes met Garak's in an expression of  
sympathy... or was it pity?

Garak felt his blood begin to rise and gritted his teeth. The damned  
Klingon pitied him. He clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into  
fists. The logical part of his brain asserted itself just as he was  
trying to decide if he should give in to the overwhelming fury  
threatening to engulf him. "How do we know that you are the real  
Julian Bashir?"

He didn't know he had said it out loud until Martok took out a small  
sliver of metal and handed it to the man wearing Julian's face. He sat  
on a small bed and sharpened it before slicing open his finger. The  
smell of blood hit Garak's sinuses and made his head ache and his  
stomach roll.

The doctor stared at Garak, his expression revealing his curiosity as  
he searched the Cardassian's face. "I can only imagine what my  
replacement is up to on the station." He lifted his bloody finger. "B  
negative, if you were wondering."

Garak felt himself sway slightly and then stopped himself. He took a  
deep, calming breath as he heard Martok say, "It seems we are all who  
we appear to be."

Worf looked at Garak assessingly, then turned his gaze onto Martok and  
Bashir. "If the blood screenings can be trusted."

Time stopped for a moment. It was as though he were above himself,  
looking on from a different angle. Be honest, a voice spoke from deep  
within himself, you sensed something was off from the very beginning.

You knew Julian could never love an old man like you.

You're a killer, a torturer. He was a man of peace. A physician.

It was never going to happen.

No, he thought weakly.

The voice refused to relent.

You knew something was wrong. You knew the whole time that your Julian  
was the Founder.

No.

You knew the minute he started flirting with you.

No.

You knew when he got up in the middle of the night he was going to regenerate.

That's not true.

You kept catching him in his lies and you ignored them.

I never did, it's not true.

He forgot about the uniform change, he forgot about Risa, he forgot  
about past conversations and meetings. More than once, he forgot, and  
you knew.

Not true. It's not true.

He wasn't anything like the Julian Bashir you knew, was he? So eager  
to love you, so aggressive, so open and passionate. Everyone around  
noticed, but you knew. You chose not to tell them. You allowed him to  
infiltrate the station, didn't you?

Shut. Up.

You could go back. You could just wait and kill them all. Just kill  
them all and sneak back to your precious Julian and pretend. Pretend  
that he could love someone like you.

Garak let his eyes drift over the room. Only a split second may have  
passed but in that fraction of a moment, his mind began to work.

It's not the first time you've betrayed those you had pledged your  
loyalty to. Worf was right. You have no honor.

But you have Julian.

Garak felt his teeth hurt as his jaw tightened, making them grind  
together harder. He felt grit on his tongue as the enamel chipped  
away.

Take out Worf first, he's the strongest. You've read his file, he has  
previous injuries to his spine. Bury your fingers into the scar above  
his third vertebra and press hard until you feel the pop, then reach  
in and pull. Martok next, he's already half done in. The two Romulans  
are next. You know what to do. They will try to subdue you using the  
nerve cluster at your neck, but you had those nerves rerouted years  
ago. Smash your knee into the male's gonads then bring your fist down  
on his skull. The ridge above the eyebrow where the skull suddenly  
thins is the weakest point. As he dies, grab the female's throat and  
rip it out.

He felt his breath catch.

Keep your eye on the Breen. When the guard comes in, use his momentum  
against him to push the Hadar on top of the prostrate alien. The Breen  
is in hibernation. When he awakes he'll become aggressive and kill  
anything touching him. While the Breen takes care of the guard, reach  
out and snap the imposter's neck.

Garak's palm itched as he remembered how smooth and fragile Julian's skin was.

Soft, warm...

He remembered Julian as he slept, as he laughed, as he ate. He  
remembered sitting on their bed eating cake and laughing.

His ears ached with the sounds echoing in his head.

His tongue remembered his taste. Small licks and nips, the rush of  
seed as he came to completion.

His nostrils flared as the memory of his scent, clean and spicy,  
became fresh again. Julian fresh from the tub from their trip to  
Bajor. He held him that night, so close, so tenderly.

Kill them and take Tain. Get him on the Defiant then go home to  
Julian. Tell him you know, that it doesn't matter, just go to him.  
Tell him you'll serve his interests if it pleases him. Anything. Do  
whatever you have to do, just go.

From a distance, Garak realized that they, Worf, Julian, and Martok,  
were still talking.

"They're all we've got," Bashir said simply.

"What about the others?" Garak felt himself ask gruffly. "Have you  
tested them as well?"

"Everyone except the Breen." Everyone except Garak looked over at the  
seemingly comatose alien. "No blood."

Worf spoke up. "We have to escape...warn Captain Sisko before that  
changeling carries out his mission."

Garak suddenly came to attention. The mission.

The voice stilled.

The mission.

Always the mission.

He got himself under control.

"The mission. You're right. We have to get Tain out of here."

Julian was dead, he decided.

There was no more Julian.

It had been a dream but now the dream was done. He was awake. Now  
there was only the mission.

Now there was only Bashir.

As he stalked over to the bed where Tain lay dying he forced himself  
to breath slowly, in and out. He felt Worf's eyes follow him across  
the room but did not acknowledge it.

He also knew that Worf wasn't the only one watching him.

******

Bashir kept his eyes on Garak as he turned his back on them and knelt  
beside Tain's bunk. There was something going on, he thought, as he  
studied the set of the Cardassian's shoulders.

He had noticed the emotions that had played across Garak's face while  
they had talked. He had seen betrayal, rage, even despair in the man's  
eyes, and if he wasn't much mistaken those emotions had mainly been  
directed towards him. Worf seemed almost - protective, if that were  
imaginable - towards Garak; Bashir wanted to know why.

The thought crossed his mind that the changeling could have hurt Garak  
medically. Could he have operated on him, given him a hypo of  
something dangerous? Had he gotten into a fight with the man, driven  
him away? It was possible, he realized: Garak was a perceptive man,  
and perhaps the Founder had decided that ending the friendship would  
make his task easier.

Julian glanced at him again, then turned back to Martok and Worf. The  
mystery would have to wait until they were free. "I take it Tain was  
able to get the message out?" he asked them.

"For the most part," Worf replied. "We learned that this Tain was  
alive and that there was an imposter on the station, but we did not  
know his identity until we saw you."

Bashir frowned. "Has the Founder hurt anyone? Have any station  
residents died unexpectedly or-"

But Worf was shaking his head. "There have been no reports of deaths  
or unexpected illnesses."

He leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh. "Thank God. And  
Kira and the O'Brien's baby?"

"Well and healthy."

Martok chuckled. "This one," he said, cocking a thumb at Bashir while  
speaking to Worf. "Before he went into isolation, he tried to  
intervene in a brawl between a pair of Cardassians each twice his  
size. Got himself knocked out for his trouble. When he came to, the  
first thing he asked was whether either of the Cardassians was  
injured." He snorted. "I used to think Starfleet doctors were weak,  
cowardly. This one...he's headstrong, impulsive, but he's no coward."

"Dr. Bashir is an honorable man," Worf replied. His eyes flickered  
back to Garak for a second.

As Martok turned to speak to Kalenna about the guards, Bashir drew  
Worf aside. "What's wrong with Garak?" he asked.

The Klingon frowned uncomfortably, his gaze on the opposite wall. "I  
do not know what you mean."

He rolled his eyes. "I saw the way he stared at me," he said, "and I  
also see how you keep shooting looks at him. Did the Founder do  
something to harm Garak, give him drugs or operate on him?"

"I-" Worf began, but his face became hard. "It is not my place to say."

"What do you mean it isn't your place?" he asked, his anger growing.  
What were they hiding?

But Worf was adamant. "It would be improper for me to discuss the matter."

He was going to ask another question, but Martok interrupted them.  
"Kalenna's noticed that the guards have recently begun their sentries  
in a different section..."

As he listened to the general and the two Romulans discuss the change  
in the guards' schedules, he wondered exactly what had happened to  
make Garak so angry. Nightmare situations went through his mind: had  
the Founder sabotaged station systems? Had he-

A sudden realization made his stomach muscles clench: Ziyal. Had the  
Founder harmed her, given her poor medical advice, or (and he hoped  
for both Garak's and her sake this hadn't happened) seduced her? He  
pressed his lips together. If the bastard had done that, no wonder  
Garak was upset at the sight of him. He had assumed that Garak's  
interest in Ziyal was more avuncular than romantic, but if he had been  
wrong...such an action towards a young, naïve girl couldn't help but  
enrage the man.

He shot another glance back at Garak, who was still kneeling by Tain's  
bunk, his back turned to them. Surely he would soon realize that his  
anger was misdirected. If he could just talk to him, get him to  
understand that he wasn't the cause of whatever problem there was...

******

"Jules, darling!"

Julian smiled widely as an elegant woman exited the airlock. "Hello,  
mother! You look wonderful!"

The woman put her hands on her hips and scowled playfully. "Mera  
priatama va saba se adhika surupa putra! Would that you visited me  
even once in the last three years, the fact that I look wonderful may  
not have come as such a surprise to you. Where is my bhaviyata damada?  
Does he not wish to greet his sasa?"

Julian rolled his eyes and glanced apologetically at Sisko and Dax who  
were standing nearby, smiling in confusion. "Mother, it's not nice to  
confuse the universal translators, especially when I've brought some  
very special friends to greet you."

Amsha Bashir chuckled, her teeth almost blindingly white against her  
dusky skin. She switched off the little device on her lapel that had  
allowed her to block the universal translators in the officer's comm  
badges and pouted. "It is a game I enjoy, my dearest. Allow an old  
woman her small victories. Now, are you going to greet me properly or  
do I take you over my knee?"

Sisko examined Amsha Bashir carefully as she was embraced by her son.  
She was not a conventionally beautiful woman by any means. Her nose  
had a hawkish bent, her eyes were dark and deep set, and, although she  
was small in stature, she had a stocky frame. Were it not for the  
elegant way she carried herself, Amsha Bashir could be considered  
handsome at best. However, with her lilting, almost musical voice and  
the seamless poise and confidence she exuded, she came off as being  
quite chic and exotic.

The captain glanced over at Dax to see her envious eyes sweep over  
Amsha's figure. He had been married to his wife, Jennifer, long enough  
to recognize that the cream colored silk pantsuit Amsha wore was quite  
expensive and well tailored. Were Garak here he would undoubtedly  
comment on that fact. From her coifed and styled pageboy down to her  
very expensive shoes by some designer his wife loved but whose name  
now escaped him, Mrs. Bashir was every inch the type of mother he  
would have expected a man like Julian Bashir to have. Everything about  
her was meticulous.

As her long, elegant fingers stroked through her son's curls  
exclaiming that he was in dire need of a haircut, he inventoried her  
appearance; French manicure and a matching pedicure peeking out from  
her cream and gold open-toed pumps, a large, but not crass, diamond  
ring and wedding band on her left hand, makeup lightly and expertly  
applied, her well-fitted jacket revealing enough decolletage to be  
attractive without appearing sleazy or age-inappropriate, her slacks  
unwrinkled and free of any travel dirt despite her long journey to the  
station-all these things spoke of breeding and wealth to him.

She was perfect.

But was she too perfect?

Sisko didn't have long to ponder that before the doctor turned to  
introduce them. "And this, mother, is Captain Benjamin Sisko, my  
commanding officer."

He gave Bashir's mother his most gracious smile as he bowed slightly  
toward her. "A pleasure, ma'am. It's so nice to finally meet you. Is  
your husband with you?" He looked around curiously.

"Richard?" Amsha asked, then shook her head. "No, I'm afraid he was  
too busy to come, but we'll both be returning for the wedding...unless  
I can convince you to bring your Garak home to us where you belong?"  
She threw Julian a questioning look.

"I'm afraid that Captain Sisko needs us here right now," Julian said  
gently, returning his mother's teasing grin. "You'll just have to  
settle for the Bajoran shrine here on the station in place of a mosque  
back home."

She frowned charmingly. "Oh well, as long as I get my wedding I don't care!"

"I thought it was Julian and Garak's wedding?" Jadzia asked with a smile.

"And who is this lovely young woman?" Amsha asked, extending her hand  
to Jadzia and holding it gently while she looked at her from head to  
toe.

"Lieutenant-Commander Jadzia Dax, Mrs. Bashir. I work with your son."  
Dax said warmly.

"Well Lieutenant-Commander Jadzia Dax, you should be aware that the  
wedding is never about the couple actually exchanging their vows, it's  
about the mothers and how much they can spend of the fathers' money to  
out do the other family's contribution!" She winked. "And according to  
my future son-in-law, as I have full control over every aspect of the  
event, I win automatically."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Jadzia returned with a grin.

"You're a clever one, then. And aren't you just gorgeous!" She turned  
to the doctor. "Jules! If you passed up on wooing this beautiful young  
woman for your Garak then he really must be an extraordinary man  
indeed!"

"You've spoken to Garak enough through the comm unit to know exactly  
how extraordinary he is, mother," Julian said with a twinkle in his  
eye, "but you're right, the fact that Dax is very lovely did not  
escape my attention. Unfortunately though, she spurned my every  
advance and drove me into the arms of another."

Jadzia leaned close to Amsha and said in a stage whisper, "You do, of  
course, realize your son is full of it, right?"

"Of course I do, my dear. I'm his mother," she whispered back, then  
smiled. "He gets his gift of hyperbole and balderdash from his father,  
I'm afraid."

"What business is Mr. Bashir in, by the way?" Sisko asked. "The doctor  
never said."

She turned back to the captain. "He's an entrepreneur. He worked  
mainly in the transportation industry, designing shuttlecraft, and  
such, but since he's retired he's gotten more and more into public  
service. Right now he's designing a park and thinking about running  
for office."

"Dad a politician?" The doctor laughed. "I thought he hated politics?"

"He does, that's why he's running. He doesn't want to see the other  
man win the election!" She linked her arm with her son's and pulled  
him to her tightly. "Now, take me to my grandchildren's rooms so I  
know how much of your father's hard-earned credits I can spend and  
then we're off to Bajor! I want to see them both as soon as I possibly  
can!"

Julian hesitated then looked up to the captain. "Is it all right...?"

Sisko cut him off. "Go visit with your mother for a bit, doctor, but  
we are in the midst of a drill so I'm afraid I can't authorize you to  
leave the station. However," he bowed his head politely toward Amsha,  
"I have some pull with the Bajoran clergy as well as Bajoran Social  
Services. I'm sure I can have the children come up here for the day to  
spend some time with their future grandmother."

"Thank you, sir," Julian said gratefully.

"Even better! Now I can take them shopping with me!" Amsha exclaimed,  
then turned to the captain. "But what is this about a drill? My visit  
isn't going to interfere with my son's work, is it? I'm sure I can  
rent a room on Bajor for the next few days...."

Sisko shook his head. "It's nothing to be concerned about, ma'am, but  
it is something we do take very seriously. Unfortunately, I will have  
to insist your son remain on duty or on call for the next 48 hours,  
but you are welcome to remain on board." He added, "On the off chance  
that the Admiral orders us to evacuate all non-essential personnel as  
a part of our battle readiness scenario, I will personally arrange for  
you to stay with the monks at the orphanage where your grandchildren  
are currently living so you can still fully enjoy your time with  
them."

"In that case, let's go ahead and evacuate!" she suggested.

"Mother..." Julian admonished.

"Oh, pooh!" she said, slapping him lightly on the arm. "Can Julian at  
least show me to my room before he goes back to work?"

"I believe Dr. Okuna has things well in hand, correct?"

"He does, sir," Julian answered.

"Then I order you to escort this woman to Mr. Garak's quarters immediately."

"Aye sir!" the doctor said happily.

Sisko bent charmingly over Amsha's hand and kissed the air above her  
knuckles. "Madam, it has been a pleasure."

"Oh my," Amsha said holding a hand to her breast. "I may just have to  
leave your father for this one, Jules."

Julian merely sighed and looked heavenward as if seeking strength from  
a higher power.

"The pleasure is all mine, captain." She winked. "I'm keeping my eye on you."

Sisko quirked an eyebrow at her and said in a low voice, "I look forward to it."

Amsha laughed delightedly, a full-bodied, womanly laugh that  
brightened her entire face and made Sisko's own lips tug upward of  
their own volition. Despite his vow to suspect everyone and eliminate  
no one, the captain found himself believing this delightful woman  
couldn't possibly be anything but genuine.

He felt an instant kinship to her.

Just as he knew in his own heart that he could instinctively tell his  
Jake from a shapeshifter, no matter how close the resemblance might  
be, he truly believed this woman would be able to do the same.

Garak was right.

Julian Bashir was not their Founder, he now felt it in his bones.

His heart fell as he realized the connotations of this: if Bashir  
wasn't their changeling, then it meant someone else in his senior crew  
was.

He watched Julian lead his mother to the turbolifts, both of them  
chatting animatedly as they caught up with one another, and frowned.  
Who was it? Who could it possibly be?

He had begun to be so convinced...but no.

"Damn."

"Did you say something, Benjamin?" Dax asked curiously.

"I said she's a damned fine looking woman," Sisko answered smoothly.

Dax smacked his arm. "Knock it off! She's married! And what about  
Kasidy?" Her eyes sparkled devilishly. "Thinking of juggling two women   
at once, or what?"

"Mrs. Bashir's husband is several million miles away from  
here," he said, grinning toothily even though he no longer  
felt the least bit like smiling. "And as for Kasidy, wasn't  
it Curzon Dax who used to tell me that were sex to be  
likened to an Oreo cookie, it's always best to be the cream.  
Especially when one has two dark and sweet partners to keep  
him company." He winked.

"You rogue - Curzon would be proud!" Jadzia praised as they  
headed toward the Promenade. "You realize though, if you  
were serious, you'd become Julian's step-father." Her eyes  
widened in exaggeration. "And eventually, Garak's  
father-in-law..."

"I never said it wouldn't have its downside," Sisko responded  
jovially, but inside his stomach rolled.

He didn't like not knowing who he could and couldn't  
trust...

...and Gilhouly was still at least 24 hours away.

Every second that passed had now begun to feel like an  
eternity.

\---

Amsha Bashir tugged on her son's uniform jacket and smoothed  
the material in a maternal fashion. "You look so handsome in  
your uniform, Jules! I want to take a thousand holoimages of  
you and the children for your father!"

Several crewmen passed and smiled at them both as a blush  
crept up Julian's neck. "Mother, please! I'm the station's  
CMO, for god's sake! I feel like you're going to pat me on  
the head and hand me a cookie for a job well done."

"Let me fuss, Julian. It's been three long years and I  
deserve the right to tease and spoil my only child as much  
as I wish!" she said, completely ignoring him as they  
stepped inside the turbolift together.

As soon as the doors shut, both their faces stilled,  
completely expressionless.

"Why was I not informed about this drill?" Amsha asked  
coolly.

"You were already en route. There was no time," Julian  
answered in the same tone.

"And where is the Destroyer?" she asked.

"Earth. He was summoned there by the Federation."

"You have confirmed this?"

"I have," he answered. "The flight path of the Defiant did indeed  
correspond with their orders."

"This affects our plans."

Julian turned to her. "I wish to discuss revising the plan. Something  
has come up."

"Are the Destroyer's quarters secure?"

"I swept it myself just before your arrival."

"We will sweep them again before discussing your proposed revisions."

The doors opened and Amsha's face lit up as she linked her arm into  
her son's again and said cheerfully, "Now! Where is my grandchildren's  
new home? I'm going to have the whole place completely decorated long  
before that fiance of yours returns home. He'll be absolutely  
thrilled!"

"Let's hope so," Julian said dryly.


	5. Inferno

\---  
Chapter Five: Inferno  
\---

Some time passed. Garak didn't know how long. His internal  
clock wasn't working anymore. He knew it was at least an  
hour or two, though.

Worf and Martok had been talking quietly for some time about  
the prison and the guard rotations while Bashir and the two  
Romulans occasionally added a comment.

Worf's back was to him, shielding him from their view. He  
didn't hear his name mentioned but he sensed the others'  
curiosity about his reaction to seeing Bashir.

Garak returned his attention to Tain, watching him breathe  
shallowly in and out. He'd be dead soon. His skin was black  
and his body bloated, congested with fluid.

His death was not to be pretty or pleasant. Tain suffered.

Good.

Suffer, he thought. Die screaming, die in pain. Just die so  
I don't have to hear you laugh when you find out what a  
dismal and stupid old man I have become. Duped by a lover  
and pitied by a Klingon.

"I never should've come here," Garak said to himself. "I  
should have let that monster die alone and forgotten."

A warm hand fell on his shoulder lightly.

"Frankly, I'm glad you came." It was Julian smiling at him.  
Julian. "Misery loves company."

Garak shut his eyes and forced himself to remain still, even  
though every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to  
shrug off Bashir's hand and shake him like a rag doll until  
he lay motionless at his feet.

Instead, he breathed in that familiar scent and willed this  
man to be his Julian, if only for a little while.

"My whole life, I've done nothing but try to please that  
man. I let him mold me, turn me into a mirror image of  
himself. And how did he repay me? With exile." He laughed  
hollowly. "But I forgave him. And now, here at the end, I  
thought maybe, just maybe, he could forgive me." Forgive me.

Forgive me Julian.

Forgive me for ever coming here.

He felt his eyes ache, but remained quiet.

He heard Bashir shift uneasily behind him. "From what I've  
seen of him in the last three months, he doesn't come across  
as the forgiving type."

"I was a fool," Garak said bitterly, the venom that had  
eaten at his soul now spewing forth. "Let this be a lesson  
to you, doctor... perhaps the most valuable I can teach you.  
Sentiment is the greatest weakness of all."

He turned to look into Bashir's eyes, soft brown eyes that  
did not reflect the fear he should be feeling right now.  
Instead, there was only sympathy.

"If that's true," he said softly, "then it's a lesson I  
don't want to learn."

"Elim...Elim is that you?"

Garak and the doctor both looked down as Tain began to  
speak.

"I'll ask the others to leave," Julian said, walking toward  
the end of the room and speaking in low tones to the other  
prisoners.

"It's me," Garak said simply.

Tain squinted, his eyes dull and milky as searched the room.  
"Everything's gone dark. I can't see you." He paused. "Are  
you alone?"

Bashir had rejoined them, intending to check Tain's pulse.  
He froze, then made a movement as if he were silently asking  
if he should leave.

Garak didn't know why he didn't tell him to go. Maybe it was  
because part of him still hoped that somehow this was still  
his Julian or maybe it was just to punish Tain.

Perhaps it was because he felt he owed the real Julian  
Bashir something. After all, this was the Bashir who had  
saved his life on more than one occasion; in return, Garak  
had taken the imposter into his bed and told the Founder the  
secrets the true Bashir would now never know.

Whatever the reason, he nodded for the doctor to take a  
seat. "Yes," he said, his eyes meeting the doctor's.  
"There's no one here but you and me."

Bashir obeyed his silent request, taking a seat across the  
room. He waited.

Tain's voice was slurred and urgent. "Surjak, Memad, Brun...  
they can't be trusted. They must be dealt with."

Already dead, he thought. Tain killed them years ago, he's  
just forgotten. "I've already taken care of it."

"What about Gul Vorlem?" he asked. "Have you been able to  
contact him?"

Irrationally, Garak felt like laughing. Vorlem died in the  
arms of a prostitute of natural causes. No need to tell Tain  
that now, though. "Years ago," he answered simply.

"The Romulan ambassador?"

Garak paused at the question. He felt the pity well up from  
his belly and sting his eyes. The ambassador had been the  
last assignment he'd taken before the investigation on Bajor  
that eventually led to his exile. Tain's mind was fading  
quickly. "Gone. All of your enemies are dead."

Tain smiled weakly, his joy making his bloated and black  
face seem almost childlike for a moment. "Good. A man  
shouldn't allow his enemies to outlive him."

Garak swallowed his nausea. "Then you can die happy." His  
eyes sharpened. "Unless you still consider me an enemy."

Tain ignored him and instead lifted his fingers, gesturing  
Garak closer. "Elim... promise me one thing."

"I'm listening."

"Don't die here," he croaked out. "Escape. Live..."

Garak's voice was cold and bitter as he responded. "Let me  
guess...so I can make the Dominion pay for what they've done  
to you?"

Tain smiled again. It was a dangerous smile Garak was very  
familiar with. "You wouldn't deny an old man his revenge,  
would you?"

But surviving is the last thing I want to do.

As the thought popped into his head, Garak immediately  
rejected it as a lie. Survival is everything. If I die here,  
I'll never get my revenge, he thought. Revenge against  
himself, Bashir, or the Founder, he didn't know, but he  
clung to the thought all the same. "I'll do as you ask...on  
one condition."

Garak hesitated, looking over to see Bashir staring at them  
both intently. Does it even matter anymore? he thought.  
Probably not, but this was his moment of death as well in  
many ways, he reasoned. With Tain's passing and the loss of  
the man he had called his mate, there was nothing left for  
him. No secrets worth hiding anymore. This was as good a  
time as any for his longest-kept secret to be heard.

"That you don't ask me this favor as a mentor, or a superior  
officer... but as a father asking his son." Garak paused,  
waiting for the eventual response he knew would come.

"You're not my son."

Garak felt a surge of triumph as he heard the note of  
weakness in Tain's voice. Twist the knife, he thought  
maliciously, as the dying man turned his face to the wall.  
If it's the last thing you do, if I have to keep you alive  
just so I can hear the words: you will say it. "Father,  
you're dying. For once in your life, speak the truth."

Tain's expression fell and softened. "I should have killed  
your mother before you were born. You've always been a  
weakness I can't afford."

Garak's throat tightened. Sentiment. Love. Yes, he now  
understood how dangerous they were, now more than ever. "So  
you've told me. Many times."

Perhaps Tain had been right after all.

He thought back to when he was a small child, still young  
enough to be hurt by his parent's rejection.

How many times did I hear that I was a mistake, he thought.  
How many times did I sit in the dark and pray to the dead  
gods of my people that my father would treat me with some  
tenderness? "Enabran, listen to me. All I ask is that for  
this moment, let me be your son."

Tain stared off into space, visibly torn. Finally, after a  
long silence, he closed his eyes. "Elim, remember that  
day... in the country. You must've been almost five." Death  
was overtaking him now. His face was relaxing, his voice  
growing weak and shaking with the effort it took to just  
speak. Garak heard the wheeze deep in the old man's lungs as  
his heart began to falter.

"How can I forget it? It was the only day."

"I can still see you... on the back of that riding hound."  
He smiled softly. Garak allowed himself to imagine what it  
would have felt like to be rewarded by such a smile back  
when it might have made a difference. "You must've fallen  
off a dozen times. But you wouldn't give up."

"I remember limping home." He also remembered his ankle  
swelling as Tain ruffled his hair and smiled proudly. It had  
been worth the pain. "You held my hand."

"I was very proud of you, that day." And with that, Tain  
gave Garak one last smile and died. As Garak reached out to  
close his eyes, watching the muscles in Tain's face relax  
for the last time, he wondered: what would it have been like  
if only that had been the first day of many?

Years and memories that never happened flashed before his  
eyes as he felt the last of Enabran Tain's life force drain  
away under his fingertips.

A happy childhood which led to a position of respect, far  
from the gruesome and violent world of men like Enabran  
Tain. Perhaps in the arts: that way he still could have met  
Julian Bashir.

Only it would not have been Garak the tailor but Elim Garak,  
the respectable philanthropist and student of the arts, a  
kind, gentle man who could actually hope to win the young  
man's heart.

Perhaps Tain would have continued to be a loving father even  
then, even as his only son rejected his plans to join with a  
powerful Cardassian house.

Tain, the father.

Tain, the grandfather.

He imagined Tain holding Kela's hand as they watched Lewin  
mount the riding hound at the orphanage, his face proud as  
he caught Garak's eye.

He imagined them standing together as a family, Julian  
holding his hand as Kela glowed under her grandfather's  
attention, Lewin concentrating on keeping his balance as  
Tain cheered him on.

Julian loving him as he looked on proudly.

Shadows.

Illusions.

That way lay dragons, his mind warned as his soul withered  
and died in his chest.

"Garak..."

He rose abruptly and brushed Bashir's hand off his shoulder.  
"Don't touch me," he said in a low, hard voice.

"Garak?" Bashir's face clouded in confusion. "It's all  
right-" He reached out for him again.

Garak stepped back and pinned the doctor with a glare.  
"Touch me again, and I will kill you."

Bashir blinked and dropped his hand slowly. "I'm sorry," he  
said after a moment. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just  
want you to know...if you need anything, I'm here for you."

"I don't need anything from you." With that he turned and  
walked outside, not caring what the young human thought.

And after a few seconds, Bashir followed.

\---

Garak frowned at the two Klingons as he and Bashir returned  
to the main area. "Gentlemen, I don't know about you," he  
said, "but my business here is done."

Worf nodded. "Then I suggest we find a way out of here." He  
turned to Martok and Bashir. "Before we were apprehended, we  
detected a large number of Jem'Hadar ships hiding in a  
nearby nebula. I suspect the Dominion is planning an  
invasion of the Alpha Quadrant."

"But how will we get out?" Bashir asked, still as shaken by  
Tain's revelation as he was by Garak's harsh words. "The  
only reason we were able to even contact the station was  
Tain's modification to the life support model. How are we  
going to get back to the runabout?"

"We didn't bring a runabout," Garak said, his voice icy. "We  
have the Defiant."

Bashir's eyes widened. "Then where's the rest of the crew?"

"Mr. Garak and I were the only individuals aboard," Worf  
said. "Captain Sisko had us take the Defiant because he  
hoped the cloaking device would allow us to complete the  
mission without being noticed. Needless to say, it did not  
work."

The doctor's eyes traveled between Worf and Garak as he  
digested this news. Without the Defiant, the station and  
Bajor were undefended and ripe for invasion. With an  
undetected changeling on board, it was imperative that they  
escape and return to the Alpha Quadrant as quickly as  
possible.

"Can we contact your ship?" Martok asked.

"The Jem'Hadar confiscated our comm badges at the time we  
were brought here," Garak replied. "However, I have a  
feeling the Dominion has other concerns than us at this  
moment in time; I doubt they've bothered to remove the ship  
from orbit." He frowned. "The transmitter Tain used to  
contact the station: where is it?"

"Back there," Bashir said, nodding at the panel behind  
Tain's bunk. "Are we clear?" he asked, looking over at the  
Romulans.

Kalenna moved to the doorway and looked both ways. "All  
clear," she said.

With another quick look at Garak, Bashir moved to Tain's  
bunk. "General, if I could have your assistance?" They moved  
the bed containing the dead Cardassian aside; Bashir pulled  
out the lever he had fashioned from scavenged metal and used  
it to pry open the first panel. "In there," he said to Garak  
as Martok removed the inner panel. "You have to crawl  
through the hole and kind of slide up into the wall."

"Mr. Worf," Garak said as he squeezed into the small  
opening, ignoring the doctor as if he were one of the  
fixtures, "if we could send out a code to the Defiant  
ordering it to beam us up..." He paused as he slid up the  
wall and all but his feet disappeared from view. "Are there  
any other Alpha Quadrant prisoners in the camp?"

"There are Cardassians," Martok replied. "Quite a few, in  
fact. Why do you ask?"

"Because none of us have our comm badges," Garak replied. "I  
can contact the Defiant to beam up all Humans, Klingons, and  
Romulans aboard the station, but it would be difficult to  
differentiate between myself and other Cardassians. We'll  
only have one chance to beam out, and if I'm not mistaken  
the Defiant can only beam up a limited number of personnel  
at one time."

"That is correct," Worf said. "The main transporters are  
only able to beam up eight individuals at once."

"And there are seven of us," Bashir said, looking askance at  
the Breen in the corner as he pushed himself to his feet.

Garak emerged from the hole. "Since we'll likely only have  
one chance to beam out, it will be necessary to instruct the  
Defiant to beam us up by location. I could send a message  
asking for the beam-up of all Klingons, Cardassians,  
Romulans, and Humans within, say, five metres of the  
transmitter, but it'll take a while to send the code. Tain's  
code is secure, but it requires a relatively high  
bandwidth." He frowned pensively. "If I could use something  
simpler..."

"How about Morse?" Bashir asked. "It's a simple alphanumeric  
code from ancient Earth. Each letter is replaced by a short  
series of dots and dashes."

"An ancient code?" Martok said, doubt clouding his voice.  
"Won't that be simple for the Dominion to detect?"

Bashir smiled at the general. "There's an Earth saying, sir:  
if you can't outsmart them, out-dumb them. Morse can be sent  
by interrupting the carrier wave; the signal itself becomes  
the code. With all their sophisticated listening devices and  
decoders, the Dominion will probably assume the signal's  
simply a malfunctioning communications device."

"It would be relatively simple to adjust the transmitter to  
broadcast a plain carrier wave," Garak said, giving Bashir a  
sharp look. "I could send the code manually..." He turned  
back to the wall, apparently deep in thought.

"Do you know this Morse code, Doctor?" Worf asked.

Bashir nodded. "I had to learn it for the Battle of Britain  
holoprogram Miles and I run. Pilots used it on ancient Earth  
to identify navigational aids. It must be somewhere in the  
Defiant's memory banks. I'll write a message out on one of  
the sheets."

"With what?" Martok asked.

"Blood," he said with a shrug. "We don't have anything else  
I can use."

The Romulan male suddenly called out, "They're coming."

Bashir and Martok grabbed the panels, slipping them in place  
and hiding the piece of metal they used to remove them  
seconds before Ikat'ika and his Second entered the room with  
two guards. "He's dead?" he said to Bashir, nodding at Tain.

"Just now."

The First gestured to the body. "Dispose of it," he ordered  
the guards before pointing at Worf. "You. Follow me."

Martok silently passed Bashir the sliver of metal they'd  
used previously to cut themselves before following Worf and  
the Hadar to the battle area. The guards lifted Tain's body,  
carrying it easily out the door and into the corridor. Five  
seconds later the sound of disruptor fire told them it had  
been disposed of.

Bashir frowned at the doorway, suspecting that Worf didn't  
fully understand yet what he was getting himself into. The  
'battles' between the Jem'Hadar and their opponents were  
completely different than those between Klingon warriors;  
moreover, he doubted Martok had spoken to Worf yet about how  
to handle the Hadar. Worf would likely need Bashir's help  
once the battle was over, he thought, but Garak needed him  
more at the moment - and not just to compose the message.  
Garak was a claustrophobic and would not find it easy to  
handle the confined space behind the panels. He decided it  
was best that he remain near Garak for the time being.

He looked up at the Romulans. "Clear?"

Regor, the male Romulan captive, nodded. "The guards  
shouldn't be back for over an hour."

"Keep an eye out," he said as he retrieved the chunk of  
metal again and opened the panels for Garak, who strode past  
him angrily and eased himself into the tight space. Bashir  
sat outside the hole in the wall, one of the panels in his  
lap, and waited.

"You know," he said to Garak through the wall after a few  
minutes, "if you beam up everyone within, say, five metres,  
we can beam up Martok and Worf later."

Garak snorted. "I had already thought of that, Doctor. Now  
if you would please compose the message..."

Bashir shook his head again as he crossed to his bunk,  
pulled the thin sheet off his mattress, and sat down on the  
floor, spreading the threadbare fabric in front of him. With  
the sliver of metal Martok had given him he made a short but  
deep cut into the back of his left forearm, biting his lip  
so as not to groan. When enough blood had dripped onto the  
floor beside the sheet, he dipped a finger into the pool and  
began to paint a series of dots and dashes on the thin  
fabric, stopping once to coax more blood out of his arm.

Kalenna leaned over the sheet. "What does it say?" she  
asked.

"The first word is 'Defiant'," he replied. "Then 'Beam up  
all Alpha Quadrant species within five metres." He looked up  
at her. "Do you think that's enough?"

"If your ship can parse this code it should be adequate."  
She looked over at Regor. "We'll have to move the Breen over  
to Tain's bunk; that way we'll all be beamed up together."

A voice emerged from the far corner. "I will not go with  
you. I do not trust you." The Breen turned over and went  
back into hibernation.

Bashir gave Kalenna a shrug as he finished the message and  
blew on the sheet to dry it, tearing off an unused strip of  
fabric to make himself a crude bandage. It was the Breen's  
decision, he supposed, but he wouldn't want to stay here.

He also didn't much like leaving the other Cardassian  
prisoners behind, but he didn't see how they had much  
choice. They had to break orbit and return to the station as  
quickly as possible; more importantly, many of the  
Cardassians in the compound had over the past year become  
sworn enemies of Tain, whom they blamed for their  
predicament. He doubted they'd be willing to follow Garak or  
him or even Martok, and there were enough of them that they  
could easily overpower the six of them. And if Kalenna and  
Regor decided to back them...

No, he thought: the Cardassians had to be left behind.

\---

'Amsha' smiled grimly as the slim, pen-like instrument in  
her hand glowed a warm yellow, then faded back to its  
almost-liquid state. "No monitoring equipment," she said.  
"I'm surprised they allow the Destroyer to occupy these  
premises without proper surveillance."

"Thank the good captain," the being who wore the face of  
Julian Bashir said dryly. "Ever since Odo took that footage  
of Garak and me making love, he was ordered to 'respect our  
privacy'."

She shook her head. "You should have scanned his quarters  
first. I understand your reasons for initiating the  
relationship, but..." and she looked at him appraisingly,  
"you've developed feelings for him, haven't you?"

"I was tired," he explained as they sat. "I haven't been  
able to regenerate regularly because of my assignment here.  
I couldn't keep my form as well as I should have been able  
to."

"That's not the point," she said. "I understand that finding  
time for regeneration is difficult under the circumstances  
you have been forced to operate in, and maintaining cohesion  
of the solid form is especially difficult during certain -  
exercises, especially when one is tired. But you should have  
anticipated that the Destroyer was being monitored."

"You're right, of course." He schooled his features into a  
show of acquiescence. "And you're right, I have found myself  
developing feelings for the Destroyer. He's the only solid  
I've ever met who shares our understanding of the necessity  
of order and social cohesion."

"You wish to tell me something?" she asked, her face melting  
into a more comfortable form.

Julian looked at her in envy. The smoothness of her face and  
lithe beauty of her frame looked so comfortable. "I  
believe," he said, "that our plan may be flawed. I know that  
it was our original intention to frame Garak for the  
destruction of the Bajoran system."

Her voice emerged from her natural body. "That is correct. I  
realize you were not in the Great Link at the time this  
decision was made, but it has been explained to you, has it  
not?"

He nodded nervously. "I understand that the intention of the  
deception is to cause the Federation to blame Cardassia for  
the destruction of Bajor and thereby to initiate a war  
between the two empires. My concern is that we have, as the  
solids say, backed the wrong horse."

"What is your idea?" she asked, appearing unhappy at his  
declaration. She tilted her head as if she were trying to  
see beyond the gross clumsiness of his solid form.

He longed to link, could feel the pull to his very core. "I  
know you don't feel as I do, but," and he held out his hand,  
allowing his form to touch hers in a cool ripple, "please.  
Be one with me. See what I know."

And oh the joy he felt at the release of boundaries as they  
linked. To touch and to be touched thoroughly, to know and  
to be known, to understand and to be understood. And in an  
instant he knew everything. He had always shared his  
people's fears of the solids, but only by linking could he  
regain that sense of oneness with his people. He was of  
them, not of the solids. It was the easiest thing to forget  
but the most important to remember.

The link was like being born. The shock of light, the  
renewal. The love was overwhelming. He missed this, and as  
he emerged, he wished he could share this with Garak. but  
even as he allowed that emotion to be transmitted to his  
other, he felt her rejection of it.

He tried to hold on to the link, to merge again and share  
the truth of what he believed Garak to be, but she pulled  
away and gathered herself up, retaking the shape of the real  
Bashir's mother. The solidity of her form was a harsher  
reply than any she could put into words. "I do not  
understand how you can feel that way," she said. "He is the  
Destroyer. He is a solid. It is an abandonment of the Link."

"He is not like them. He understands order." He held out his  
hand tentatively but she stepped back. His soul ached with  
the pain of the refusal.

Her shoulders squared and he could feel her reluctance to  
listen to him through their waning empathic link, but she  
still allowed him to speak.

"The solids," he began, "they threaten us with their chaos,  
their inability to see the order of our ways. They do not  
understand the Link because they are singular. This solid  
did try to destroy us but for the same reasons we would  
destroy them. They may have been first to blunder onto our  
presence and wreak havoc with the sacredness of the one, but  
we in our rebuking of their ways threatened his people. His  
link," he emphasized.

"I cannot care about his solid world," she said in a hard  
tone. "I only care for the Link. They are our  
responsibility, not these chaos-bringers."

"True," he nodded. "But Garak is different."

"He is solid," she said.

"But he understands order. More importantly, he can be  
manipulated to do our bidding." Julian thought for a moment.  
"I mentioned that Dukat was unstable. What if Garak and not  
Dukat were to become leader of Cardassia?"

she glared at him silently.

"He understands the Link and his Link has rejected him. He  
understands order and the way of the flow. He has a natural  
grasp on the concepts of oneness," he continued. "Dukat only  
understands power and will betray anyone who would offer him  
more. Garak wants only the link."

"So you believe he would be a more appropriate solid to lead  
Cardassia against the Federation?"

"If only he were born to rightness and not afflicted with  
solidity, he would be as one of us," he replied,  
straightening his posture and nodding. "To give greed its  
ultimate desire would be a temporary solution at best, but  
to allow order to beget order would mean a lasting  
protection to the many and the one. Moreover," he added, "he  
would be less likely to make irrational choices or to  
sacrifice his Link's cohesion for personal gain. He would be  
most likely to allow his Link to descend into total war with  
the Federation. Remember, in three months I was able to turn  
him into a Starfleet officer. I could do the same on  
Cardassia, and in that case I have a much better chance at  
succeeding given Garak's former position in Cardassia's  
intelligence services."

"You are a healer, Other," she said coolly, calling him by  
the name his people used to refer to each other outside the  
Link. "You always seek to preserve that which supports the  
Link, but to reward the Destroyer with our grace would be a  
disservice to those of us who are too old or too young to  
understand anything but the flow. With a single sharp word  
or careless gesture his loyalty could change. You did cause  
him to reverse his direction, but the ebb and tide of solids  
is harsh and unpredictable. If you could change him in such  
a short time he could easily switch his affections again to  
another."

"Our kindred, those of the whirlpool of time, find favor  
with the solids," he pointed out gently. "Perhaps we can  
employ their methods and train these solids to serve our  
order constructively?"

"Don't speak of the others!" she snapped. "They are chaos -  
they do not follow flow! They call themselves Prophets and  
play with time as if it were a game! We do not accept them  
as kindred; they were rejected millennia ago."

"But tides are ruled by suns and moons. Ocean must be  
divided by horizon and in the middle is the solid," he  
continued calmly. "Perhaps the time of the Great  
Conciliation is at hand. Garak may be the Bringer, not the  
Destroyer."

"Blasphemy! Lies! Superstition!" she cried out before  
calming herself. "I did not come to discuss the inane  
ramblings of the few of us who chose to listen to the  
non-linear eons ago. We deal now in fact, not fiction."

"And the facts are that Garak is a more reliable solid than  
Dukat." He frowned at her as he made his points. "More  
tractable, more controllable, more predictable. He burns  
cool, not hot. He makes decisions based on logic, not on  
self-interest. We simply cannot trust a solid who has no  
concept of loyalty, order, or justice. Garak is loyal. I can  
bring him into us, and I can ensure that the Alpha Quadrant  
is weakened to the point that we can impose order."

"He is solid," she said. "He will always be solid. He may be  
a special solid, as you say, but in our experience a man  
like Dukat is easier to find and easier to replace. When he  
dies and crumbles into nothing, so dies our link to him.  
Greed is a universal vice. If not Dukat, then another will  
suffice. You are too attached, Other. You do not see the  
clarity of our reasoning."

"By the time Garak is gone, we will already have established  
our order," he argued gently. "His love will inspire  
others."

"You are naive," she scoffed.

"But the kindred were able to--"

"I told you not to speak of them again." She tightened her  
lips. "They set themselves up as gods to the solids then  
abandoned them to chaos. They are tricksters and discordant  
in their ways. We care for those under our service by ruling  
with a firm hand. Do not let your tender heart be their  
destruction or ours."

He pressed his lips together in anger. It seemed she was  
already convinced that Garak was in fact the Destroyer.

That he had to die to avenge his attempt to destroy them.

That his name would have to go down in infamy like S'Task,  
Hitler, Colonel Green, Kodos the Executioner, and the rest  
of those scorned by the solids as devils and monsters.

It wasn't enough that the solids die: without their  
destruction, the Link would be doomed, and he understood  
that. But she was adamant that Garak's name be besmirched,  
that an example be made of him. Garak tried to destroy the  
Link; now he would be blamed for the destruction of Bajor.  
And he had to die for that to happen.

He couldn't make her see past the need for justice, couldn't  
make her see that Garak was a better choice than Dukat for  
leader of a Dominion-controlled Cardassia. Garak would no  
more abandon Cardassia or its cause than a Founder would  
abandon the Link.

Then he thought of Odo.

Odo hadn't actually abandoned the Link, though. He'd been  
sent out by the Link to explore the space past the whirlpool  
and had simply remained here, learning about the solids in  
this part of the galaxy and interacting with them. But there  
was a fault in his reasoning, he admitted to himself: Odo  
//had// abandoned the link by refusing to rejoin it. They had  
turned him into a solid as a lesson, but he had regained his  
true form after the death of the infant.

Then again, he asked himself, what could one expect from a  
rebellious adolescent? It wasn't the first time one of their  
youth had refused to relink. The difference between Odo and  
the other young Founders was that somehow Odo had found a  
niche where he was accepted.

Her voice broke into his thoughts. "Enough!" she said, her  
impatience obvious. "This is settled. Garak is to be the  
Destroyer. It is justice. The others are in agreement. I  
will grant you this concession, however: in recognition of  
your feelings on this, we will not grant Dukat his paper  
crown. We will give you just until the arrival of the  
Federation vessels to complete your mission. Garak may be  
spared, but he must also be held responsible. If you wish to  
save him after, you may find a place for him on one of our  
worlds and keep him as a pet, but I will not reward the  
Destroyer by giving him even the illusion of power."

"But-" he began. but was cut off.

"I understand," she continued, "that you have made a link of  
sorts to this solid. Perhaps it was to be expected. You have  
been separated from the Great Link on duties far too  
frequently. You are one of our most trustworthy and  
effective operatives, but perhaps we have asked too much  
from you."

He looked down meekly.

"I do not say this in condemnation." She looked at him  
sympathetically. "Separation from the Link is difficult, and  
we understand, Other, that it cannot have been easy for you.  
But we will not allow the Destroyer to escape his  
punishment. No, his life alone should satisfy you. Let him  
live, but he will not live well." She spoke in a tone that  
would brook no more argument. "Pamper him, spoil him, keep  
him as a beloved toy, but he will find no other succor but  
that of his cage."

She turned to the door and paused. "I must speak to Odo and  
tell him he has one last chance to rejoin our link. Tomorrow  
Bajor dies."

"And if he doesn't want to come with us?" he asked.

"It will be his choice. Hopefully he will choose well." She  
suddenly smiled. "I will approach him tomorrow before I  
leave...after I've visited with my 'grandchildren'." She  
opened the door. "Now come along Jules, and feed your  
starving mother! I'm simply famished and if I wanted to eat  
food from a replicator I could have stayed home!"

He assumed a smile. "Mother, I'll have you know I have the  
best replicator on the station."

"I noticed! It's better than the one your father bought for  
the new house. Where did you ever find it?"

He rose from the sofa, the dread and sorrow in his soul  
receding as he took on his role. "I'll tell you about it  
over dinner."

\---

The female Romulan stood guard in the doorway, watching the  
yard. "Your friend is taking a beating; he may not live."  
She shot the doctor a look. "With two Klingons to train his  
troops, Ikat'ika may allow his Hadar to taste more than a  
little blood this time. How long has the Cardassian been in  
there now?"

"Close to an hour," Bashir answered as he crouched by the  
open panel. "Garak? How's it coming?"

"It's 'coming' slowly."

Garak wiped his hand on his forehead and felt blood seep  
from the gash he had received the first time the wiring had  
shorted and bit at his flesh, causing him to jump back and  
slam his head against a razor-sharp piece of metal. The  
cramped, tight, narrow space was less than a foot wide.  
There was barely enough room for Garak to fit in with his  
back to one wall and his chest against the other;  
surrounding him were bare wires racing with random  
electrical charges and sharp jags of metal. It wasn't  
possible to turn around or sit down; one could only slide  
one way or the other.

Garak slid closer to the sound of the doctor's voice and  
breathed. The only source of fresh air was the open panel,  
but still the air was thick with sweat, oil, and ozone.

He had begun his Vulcan meditations as soon as he had gotten  
inside. If he hadn't, by now he probably would have gone  
into a full-blown panic attack.

He thought back to Sek's words: "Emotion is insubstantial;  
there is only logic. Logic rules all. Without logic there is  
chaos; chaos is death. With logic there is order; order is  
life. Choose to live through order. Allow logic to guide  
your thought, allow thought to replace emotion. Think on the  
infinity of thought. Thought is infinite in its diversity.  
Logic is the thread that binds the universe through our  
thoughts. Through thought we find infinite diversity in  
infinite combination. Infinity has no end. Because logic is  
infinite, it therefore sees no death, for death is the  
ending of life, and life is thought guided by logic. Thought  
and logic are immortal. In immortality we shall fear no  
death. With logic we do not need emotion. Emotion brings  
chaos. Chaos brings death. Therefore logic is life."

He repeated it over and over in his head as he worked as  
quickly as he could.

The walls of the crawlspace were covered with a grid of  
cables, relay switches and couplings which showed signs of  
extensive rewiring. Some of the rewiring was obviously done  
by Tain. The rest of it was a mangled mess, hastily twisted  
and ripped from one panel to the other. Garak grumbled  
internally. Had they just left it alone, he could have  
finished what Tain had started within half an hour, but  
rewiring the connections and undoing the damage that Martok  
and the two Romulans had caused in their eagerness to  
'assist' Tain had already taken most of the hour. It would  
take at least another two before he could begin the process  
of signaling the Defiant.

There was a light source that had been wired into one of the  
cables, an old work light that had been scavenged, most  
likely by Tain. So far it had proven to be quite unreliable,  
flickering and switching itself off and on at random  
intervals. He worked quickly in the fading light, prying  
open one of the relay switches and rewiring it.

"Are you okay in there?" Bashir's voice called from behind  
the wall.

Garak smiled grimly. "I only wish I were still in the  
Obsidian Order. This would make a wonderful interrogation  
chamber." He accidentally brushed against a relay, causing  
it to spark against his back; he hissed as another welt  
joined the others on his back. He wrinkled his nose at the  
smell of his burnt tunic and hoped for the hundredth time  
that the fabric was truly flame-retardant. If his clothes  
caught on fire, as soaked and stained as they were with  
grease from the walls and generator, he'd be dead within  
minutes.

He gritted his teeth, abandoning the thought and  
concentrating instead on his work. "Tight quarters, no air,  
bad lighting, random electric shocks. It's perfect."

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." Bashir's voice was  
weighted with concern despite his attempt at banter.

The light flickered again; he shifted his shoulder as the  
bare wiring sparked, this time against his chest. The spark  
hit a smudge of what smelled like hydraulic oil and flamed  
up. Garak slapped out the flame, hissing as the skin of his  
palm sizzled and blistered, but he tried to ignore it as he  
reached for the wires once again.

He took a breath. That was close.

"If you'd like, I'd happily trade places with you," he said,  
turning his face toward the fresh air once again.

"I suppose you could give me a crash course in Cardassian  
field engineering. I'd probably be ready to take over from  
you in... five or six weeks," Bashir said in a light tone.

Garak considered leaving the work so he could remove the  
oil-soaked clothes, but that would be worse than useless.  
His undershirt was thin and offered no protection from the  
sparks and sharp metal. He was damned either way, he  
decided, as he continued his rewiring.

"Do you need me to get you something?" Bashir asked  
tentatively. "I can't exactly replicate you a nice cup of  
tea, but we've been collecting condensation from the air  
exchange units. It's drinkable; you just have to ignore the  
metallic tang."

The doctor was obviously trying to help, Garak reminded  
himself. He had been trapped here for months on end. None of  
this was his fault.

Even though it still bothered him, he couldn't give into  
illogical anger. If nothing else could be gleaned from the  
events of the last few months, he had learned not to hold  
regrets and hatred as Tain had trained him to. Instead, if  
he were going to die in this damned wall, he decided, it  
would be with the knowledge that he had one less regret to  
take with him as he joined his father in whatever hell they  
had earned.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Garak?"

"I...apologize," he said quietly.

There was a pause. "Do you need to get out of there, Garak?"

"Is the idea of my apologizing so out of character that you  
would automatically assume I must be stressed?" Garak said,  
attempting to inject some humor into their conversation.

Bashir didn't answer him.

Garak sighed. "I behaved badly earlier. I was in shock, but  
that is no excuse for threatening you the way I did. I'm  
sorry."

There was a momentary pause before the doctor spoke. "It's  
all right. I understand. I...I might have reacted the same  
had I gone through what you have with the Founder."

Garak froze. He barely noticed the light sparking as he  
asked, "Worf told you?"

"No," Bashir said softly. "I guessed."

"It was obvious then?" Garak asked in a hollow tone, no  
longer even bothering to reach for the wires as he allowed  
the humiliation of what he had done to consume him.

"Is Ziyal all right?" Bashir's voice was full of concern.  
"He didn't hurt her, did he?"

"What?" Garak asked in confusion.

"Ziyal," the doctor insisted. "She's not...dead, is she?"

"No."

"Thank god," Bashir breathed. He then added in a louder  
voice, "I was so afraid that something awful had been done  
to her!"

If Garak had more room and cleaner hands he would have  
rubbed his eyes wearily. "What does Ziyal have to do with  
what we were discussing, doctor?"

"Isn't she...?" Bashir stopped and whispered something to the  
Romulan woman. "Quiet!" He hissed and then Garak heard the  
sound of metal scraping metal as he closed the panels,  
locking Garak in his steely coffin once more.

The seconds stretched into minutes and Garak began once more  
to work on the receiver as he waited for the doctor to  
return. He mopped his brow and face with the back of his  
hand in a futile attempt to brush the sweat from dripping  
into his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate despite his  
discomfort. He reminded himself that as soon as the danger  
had passed, Bashir would open the panel and let in some more  
fresh air and he would not be left to suffocate. Suddenly,  
the work light started to flicker.

Garak glared at the offending mechanism. "I'm sorry. That's  
absolutely unacceptable. I'm under enough strain as it is, I  
can't have you quitting on me."

The light continued to flicker, as if to mock him. After a  
few tense moments, the light stabilized, although its power  
was significantly dimmer.

"Get a hold of yourself, Garak. Focus on the job," he  
reminded himself quietly as he continued his work, quickly  
but carefully. "No mistakes, one step at a time. You're the  
only one who can contact the Defiant. People are depending  
on you. So control yourself. You're stronger than this." He  
took a breath and began the IDIC mantra again. "A  
disciplined mind...allow logic to guide your thought, allow  
thought to replace emotion. Yes, this is a tight enclosed  
space. Yes, there's not a lot of room to move. But a  
disciplined mind doesn't allow itself to be sidetracked by  
niggling psychological disorders like claustrophobia." He  
smiled, rallying himself, "These walls won't collapse around  
you. There's plenty of air. And you have friends close by.  
You have nothing to be concerned about."

Besides, this isn't like Tzenketh, he thought.

The light began to flicker once again, only this time the  
filament began to pop and sizzle a bit. That isn't good,  
Garak thought. His heart began to race as he felt the panic  
beginning to build.

"Allow logic to guide your thought, allow thought to replace  
emotion. Think on the infinite of thought," Garak muttered,  
working at a quicker pace. "Thought is infinite in its  
diversity, logic is the thread that binds the universe  
through our thoughts. Through thought we find infinite  
diversity in infinite--"

The light went out.

Garak froze. Slowly he lowered his hands and began to  
breathe, in and out. He tried to ignore the burn in his legs  
and flexed the muscles in his calves to prevent them from  
cramping.

He shut his eyes and remained still. Bashir would open the  
panel soon, he told himself: it wouldn't be much longer.

Just a few more minutes...

He began to breathe in and out slowly and he willed his mind  
to stay clear, but his thoughts kept wandering back to  
Tzenketh.

In the dark, the ghosts of his past called out to him.

Emar and Anwen.

Both were so young and so beautiful, both believed in what  
they did with a passion.

Both loved him with a passion as well, but that was where  
the resemblance to one another ended. And now he had another  
name to add to his list of lovers who had, by just opening  
their arms and inviting him in, destroyed him:

Julian Bashir.

Only it wasn't the real Julian Bashir, was it?

It was a shadow of the real Dr. Bashir, or was it the real  
Julian Bashir who was a shadow when compared to the Founder  
who had replaced him? It didn't matter. Just like Tzenketh  
no longer mattered. He should have learned his lesson. He  
should have never allowed the Founder into his heart or his  
bed.

Just like he should never have allowed himself to choose  
Emar over Tain and Anwen over Emar.

The air had grown stale and thin. He had managed to lean  
sideways on a panel and bend his knees slightly so his back  
bore his weight against the wall. The power had gone dead so  
there were no more sparks, but the carbon dioxide was  
quickly building up in the narrow space and Garak was  
beginning to feel a bit faint.

Logically, he knew there was still plenty of air, but as the  
minutes ticked by the panic was beginning to build within  
him.

He listened to the muffled voices outside his metal prison  
and heard the grumble of a Jem'Hadar as he searched the  
room, undoubtedly looking for him.

He was only able to catch snippets of the conversation.

"Where's....Cardassian?" the Hadar guard growled.

"Probably with...others....across ....prison yard. Their  
kind...to...stay together," he heard Bashir say in response.

"This.....lockdown until....found! Leave and...all...be  
executed!"

Garak held his breath as he heard the Jem'Hadar stomp out of  
the room. He closed his eyes and willed Bashir to wait. Wait  
until he was sure they had gone before opening the panel  
again.

As soon as that wall opened he had to work quickly. The  
Hadar were now looking for him and it was just a matter of  
time before they found him.

\---

Julian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding  
and took his foot off the chunk of metal they'd been using  
as a prybar. "Are they gone?" he whispered to the Romulans  
at the door as he bent over to pick it up.

Kalenna nodded. "They've entered Barracks Four."

He quickly pried off the panels. "Are you all right in  
there?" he asked, peering up into the darkened space.

"Fine, Doctor," Garak replied, his quavering voice belying  
his words. "However, the light has gone out, so if you could  
keep the entryway clear so I can see my work..."

"Will do." He stacked the two panels by the hole and sat  
down in front of them, his eyes on the doorway.

So it wasn't Ziyal, he thought, as he listened to Garak  
working in the half-dark. He couldn't imagine Garak  
developing that level of anger if the Founder had hurt  
anyone else on the station, so it simply didn't make sense.

Of course, he could be going at this the wrong way entirely.  
It might not be personal at all: perhaps the Founder had  
caused an epidemic to spread, or had done something to harm  
the half-Cardassian children on Bajor. Bashir knew that  
Garak had spent a great deal of time at the orphanage over  
the past two years trying to show the children what it was  
like to be a proper Cardassian. He would have been  
devastated had something happened to those children, and  
seeing Bashir might have been Garak's first clue that the  
Founder had been behind whatever the orphans had suffered.

Whatever it was, he told himself with a sigh, it wasn't  
terribly important at the moment. What was important was  
warning the station that he had been replaced, and making it  
back to the Alpha Quadrant with the Defiant before the  
Dominion invaded. Keep your eyes on what's important,  
Julian, he told himself. Stop obsessing.

After a while Bashir noticed that Garak appeared to be  
mumbling something under his breath; moving closer, he could  
pick up the words 'logic', 'chaos', and 'order'. It sounded  
to him like some kind of Vulcan chant. He wondered if Garak  
had picked it up from that Vulcan friend of his, the son of  
his former Academy instructor who had visited Garak once a  
few years back. Strange, he thought, for a Cardassian to use  
a Vulcan chant in a situation like this, but it couldn't  
hurt, he supposed, given how mind-numbingly awful  
claustrophobia could be.

Garak suddenly went silent; Bashir pushed himself to his  
feet and coaxed a cupful of water from the base of the air  
exchange unit, then knelt down again by Garak's feet. "How  
are you doing in there?" he whispered.

The Cardassian looked down at him, then slid down the wall  
and took the cup. "Thank you. Dehydration will not help my  
concentration."

Bashir examined his neck, noticing a number of livid burns.  
"I wish I had a dermal regenerator," Julian said, "but the  
Hadar will only let us have one when they need me to patch  
up Martok or Regor." He reached over to grab the blanket  
he'd written the message on. "How's the transmitter coming  
along?"

"I've discovered a work around that should allow us to  
broadcast a carrier wave," Garak replied, finishing the  
water Bashir had brought him. "Luckily, Tain used a standard  
Starfleet frequency, so the Defiant will be scanning for it  
automatically."

Bashir smiled at him. "I suppose you've never had the  
opportunity to study Morse?"

"You'd be correct in that supposition," Garak said, "but I  
am familiar with similar codes. However, I doubt the Defiant  
would recognize ancient Cardassian navigational codes."

"It's unlikely." Bashir spread the sheet out in the space  
between their knees. "In case I'm not here when you send the  
code, let me go over it with you. Each dash is three times  
as long as a dot. There's a dot's space between each part of  
a letter, a dash's space between each letter, and about two  
dashes' space between each word. I've used slash marks to  
separate the words. The first word at the top is 'Defiant'."

Garak frowned down at the sheet. "I'll send the word three  
times before the message. I only hope the ship recognizes  
the code."

That makes two of us, Bashir thought, as Garak slid back up  
and continued his work on the transmitter.

\---

The Second was a worthy opponent, Worf thought as he found  
himself flat on his back for the second time. That was, he  
corrected himself, if one could call a member of such a  
dishonorable species 'worthy'. Animals they were, born and  
bred for nothing but battle. One does not become a warrior  
by breeding but by choice and honorable actions.

He dragged himself to his feet and slapped one of the posts  
at the edge of the practice area. He refused to submit. Loss  
would be a dishonor. This was his fifth opponent of the  
night; the other four had left feet-first, dragged away by  
their compatriots. He intended to make short work of this  
one.

The Second suddenly dove at him. Worf feinted, then grabbed  
him around the chest and slammed him into the ground. He  
felt bones break under his fists as he punched the Hadar in  
the stomach over and over again until he went limp and his  
eyes closed.

"He won't be touching any posts for a while," Martok said,  
slapping Worf on the back as two guards dragged their fallen  
Second away. "Five wins in five battles: you truly have the  
spirit of Kahless in you."

Worf's chest was aching; the Second had broken at least two  
of his ribs. Nevertheless he refused to stand down. "Are you  
willing to face me?" he said to Ikat'ika, the First.

Martok put a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't be so eager  
if I were you. This," and he pointed to his missing eye, "is  
his handiwork."

"Then he has much to answer for." His eyes returned to  
Ikat'ika's face.

"Very well." The First handed his energy weapon to a guard  
before stepping into the ring. "You have found yourself a  
worthy opponent, Klingon. You will not find me as easy to  
defeat." He turned to his guards. "Today we train against a  
worthy adversary. Observe. Analyze. Remember. Soon, we will  
face his people in combat. The lessons you learn here will  
ensure victory. Victory is life!" he cried as he gave the  
Jem'Hadar salute.

They both touched the closest post; Ikat'ika rushed him  
almost immediately, sending him to the floor with a  
combination of a left jab and a right cross. Worf hit the  
map, but was up immediately and touched the post again. "You  
are fast, but you will not prevail," he snarled.

Ikat'ika said nothing as he rushed Worf, feinting as if he  
were about to smash into his left side but at the last  
moment turning his rush into a lethal combination of  
punches. Worf ducked and grabbed the First around the waist,  
throwing him over his shoulder and slamming him into the  
ground.

Predictable, he thought; the Hadar were fearsome  
hand-warriors but, lulled into a false sense of safety by  
their thick breastplates, failed to protect their midriffs.  
As Ikat'ika rose from the ground and hit his post, Worf  
reached back for his own only to notice a number of guards  
running from one barracks to the other. He could hear them  
yelling, faint cries of "Traitor" and "Cardassian" and "find  
him now". Soon the corridors were full of Hadars in full  
battle cry. "What is happening?" he asked Martok under his  
breath.

"Ignore it," Martok whispered back.

"Giving up so soon?" Ikat'ika snarled. "I had thought you  
would have more fire in you than that."

He ignored the taunts but reached back and touched the post.  
His delay had given Ikat'ika the chance to catch his breath,  
a mistake he hoped he would not pay dearly for.

The Hadar suddenly launched himself at Worf, abandoning all  
pretense of deception or cunning in order to complete the  
battle. Worf easily parried his attack; knowing that the  
First had mistaken his pause for exhaustion or injury, he  
held himself back, waiting for his opponent to make another  
error.

He didn't have to wait long. Ikat'ika grabbed onto his ankle  
in an attempt to pull him down; he lifted his foot and threw  
the Hadar across the arena where he landed on top of the  
post. He groaned in pain, clutching his flank, as the Vorta  
suddenly arrived.

"Did you not notice," Deyos said to the injured First, "that  
we are on lockdown? One of your prisoners has disappeared!"

Ikat'ika looked up, his eyes fierce as he pulled himself to  
his feet. "Which one?"

"The new Cardassian. We are unable to find him." He looked  
around. "There may be a security breach in progress. I want  
you to execute the new prisoners. All the prisoners know to  
be in quarters during the counts. Have all of them pay for  
his mistake: kill the Klingons and the others will execute  
his cellmates."

Ikat'ika growled under his breath. "My guards have not yet  
learned enough from this one. He is a worthy opponent, able  
to teach us much about how his people fight."

"That may be the case," Deyos said, "but the security of the  
installation comes first. Kill them."

"Very well," the Hadar said, as the guard handed Ikat'ika  
his energy weapon.

The two Klingons' gazes met, then they rushed the Hadar and  
Vorta as one.

\---

"How much longer?"

Garak grimaced as the electric spark from the wire bit at  
the exposed flesh of his palm. He hissed in pain and  
frustration. "Damn it, Julian! If you'd stop asking me every  
five seconds I might be able to finish faster!"

"Sorry."

"Go get me that sharpened piece of metal you had earlier and  
bring it to me. I need to strip some wires."

Less than a minute later, the doctor slid beside him and  
handed him the metal.

"Hold this end and be careful," Garak commanded. "If it  
touches another live wire it could short everything out  
again."

"I wish they had kidnapped the Chief instead. He would have  
been much more helpful than I am." Bashir said ruefully.

"It certainly would have saved us a lot of trouble," Garak  
mumbled. "Damn!" The metal bit deep into his thumb, taking  
out a nasty slice of flesh. Blood flowed freely down his  
wrist.

"Bloody hell," the doctor cursed as he handed the wire back  
to Garak and reached for Garak's tunic.

"What are you doing?" the Cardassian asked, taken aback.

"I need to rip a piece of cloth from your shirt to bind that  
wound. Mine's filthy."

"Undo my tunic. I have a cotton undershirt beneath that'll  
be easier to tear."

Garak closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly  
and evenly as the doctor quickly undid the front of his  
tunic one-handed and reached inside to untuck his shirt from  
his trousers. Garak heard him take the sharp piece of metal  
they had been using as a stripping tool and tear into the  
cloth. As his knuckles brushed Garak's stomach, he flinched.

"Are you alright?" He asked, concerned.

"I'm fine, Julian. Just get on with it. We need to get out  
of here and I'm less than ten minutes away from completing  
these repairs."

"Give me your hand."

Garak carefully put the shielded wire between his teeth,  
angling the live end so it wouldn't touch either of them,  
then crossed his left hand over his chest so the doctor  
could bind his thumb.

"You called me Julian," Bashir said as he tied off the  
makeshift bandage. "Twice."

Garak pulled his hand away, suddenly flustered, and snatched  
the wire from between his teeth, working rapidly once more.  
"Did I? I apologize. I wasn't thinking."

"No. I mean, I'm not offended. You've just never called me  
by my given name before," he said with a shrug. "I mean, if  
there was ever a time to drop formalities, it would be now."

"Yes, well, that's fine then," Garak said, quickly twisting  
the ends of the two wires together before reaching for a  
cable. "By your left shoulder there's a junction box. Open  
it and remove the third cable down from the top. When I hand  
you this cable, plug it in."

"All right." He took the metal from Garak and began to use  
it as a makeshift screwdriver in order to undo the  
fastenings that held the junction box closed. "Since you're  
calling me Julian now, does that mean I get to call you  
Elim?"

Garak dropped the cable he had been holding and cursed. "It...  
the blood on my hand made it slippery."

"Hold still. I'm thin enough I can crouch down and retrieve  
it," Bashir said, backing out of their narrow workspace and  
turning around so he faced the other direction. He then bent  
at the knees slightly and wedged his face against the front  
of Garak's trousers as he reached for the cable with the  
tips of his fingers. "Almost got it!" he said, his voice  
muffled as his mouth pressed against Garak's zipper.

Garak froze and breathed in and out calmly, swallowing a  
groan. Tain, you son of a bitch, I'll bet you're laughing in  
hell right now, he thought, gritting his teeth.

"Here!" Bashir said, handing Garak the cable, his face  
uncomfortably close. "I'll back out and turn around so I can  
finish undoing the panel on the box."

"No! Just - just go," Garak said quickly, sweat dripping  
down his face. "I can handle the rest."

"You're sure?" Bashir asked. "Are you all right Garak? You  
seem flushed."

"I'm thirsty, very thirsty," Garak said, leaning his head  
back against the wall. "If you would please get me some more  
water, it would be most appreciated."

The doctor nodded. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you, doctor," Garak breathed as he watched the  
younger man scurry through the maze of cables and relays. "I  
need to get out of here," he muttered as he reached for the  
panel and pried it loose. He quickly tore out the cable and  
replaced it with the one in his hand, then pulled a relay  
switch from the wall. He was tying it into the power supply  
as he heard Bashir's voice.

"I have some water. It's not much, but�"

"Nevermind," Garak said, quickly scooting toward him and  
handing him the switch. "Enter the code."

"It's done?" Julian asked in surprise.

"Hurry, you can enter it faster than I can!" Garak ordered.

"Kalenna! Regor! Get closer to the wall, we're about to send  
the signal! Tell the Breen it's his last chance to come  
along with us!" Bashir called out.

"He won't come, doctor," Regor said as he approached the  
panel. "Just send the signal!"

"What about the Klingons?" Kalenna asked.

"We'll beam them up after we get on board the Defiant.  
They're too far away right now," Garak said. "Quickly,  
doctor!"

Julian began to work the switches quickly, concentrating on  
the task as his eyes searched the lines written on the sheet  
they had hung on the panel in front of them. When he was  
done, they waited.

"Nothing's happening," Kalenna said, her voice tense.

"Are you sure you did the wiring correctly? Maybe there was  
a problem with the code," Regor called through the hole in  
the wall.

"Perhaps I should send the code again?" Bashir asked Garak,  
his mouth tight with concern.

"The Defiant is orbiting a nebula; it will take a few  
minutes to get through," Garak reassured him. Suddenly the  
walls began to shimmer and the smell of ozone burned all  
around them.

One heart-stopping second later, all four of them were  
huddled together on the bridge of the Defiant.

"Kalenna! You're a pilot, aren't you?" Garak said, striding  
toward command and quickly settling into the captain's  
chair.

"Yes!" she answered, anticipating his request and settling  
in at the helm.

"Regor, beam Martok and Worf directly into sickbay.  
Transport Dr. Bashir there as well."

"Done!" Regor said, reaching for the console beside  
tactical.

"As soon as Mr. Worf is fit for duty I need all of you back  
here on the bridge!" Garak ordered just as the doctor began  
to shimmer and disappear.

"Garak?" Julian began, but before he could get out the first  
word, he was gone.

Garak turned back to Kalenna. "The ship is equipped with a  
cloaking device," he said. "Activate it and plot a course  
for Bajor. As soon as we're within comm range I need to send  
a message to the surface."

"Aye, captain." she said, falling automatically into command  
procedure. Garak held the con so despite his rank or lack  
thereof, he was the captain as long as he held command.

"Captain! No Hadar cruisers appear to be following us, but  
shields are at maximum just in case," Regor said from his  
station at tactical.

"If you see any in pursuit, fire at will," Garak ordered.

"Aye, sir."

"Warp engines have suffered some damage, sir," Kalenna said.  
"I can only give you up to warp two, three if we push it."

"Bajor is ten hours away at Warp two," the Cardassian said grimly.  
"Keep her at that heading and steady as she goes. If we push too hard  
and have to go to impulse, it will be weeks before we reach Bajor. We  
don't have that kind of time to spare."


	6. Bajor

Chapter Six: Bajor

******

Bashir ran the cartilage regenerator over the torn posterior cruciate  
ligament in Worf's left knee one more time. "General," he said over  
his shoulder to Martok, "just keep passing the transducer over your -  
yes, just like that. What were the two of you doing anyway?"

"Keeping ourselves alive," Martok said, allowing himself a sigh of  
relief as the pain in his breastbone disappeared for the first time in  
over a year. "They weren't firing at you?"

He shrugged. "I think they got the Breen, but I only saw a flash of  
uniform before the transporter beam caught us." He put the cartilage  
regenerator aside, then scanned Worf's knee again. "Any pain?"

"Nothing of concern," he replied.

Bashir smiled to himself. A Klingon wouldn't report pain if his head  
had been cut off. "Then that's everything, and after two hours in  
Sickbay it should be," he said. "You're both released for duty, but  
try not to put too much strain on those ribs in the next 24 hours. And  
I want to talk to you, sir," he said to Martok as he turned to him,  
"about a prosthetic eye."

"It is a battle wound, Doctor," Martok said, shaking his head. "I have  
no intention of having any artificial object installed in my body. Let  
the wound be a reminder of the enemy and the danger he presents to  
both our peoples."

"Very well," he said, not surprised by the general's attitude.  
Klingons didn't consider prosthetics to be honorable, and Martok was  
if anything an honorable man. "Worf, I'm not sure if you're as  
concerned as I am about Garak taking the ship's con, but..." He  
shrugged his shoulders.

"He is the only choice we have," Worf pointed out. "And over the past  
three months I have - let us say I have lost much of my distrust of  
him. Not all, but some. I am confident that he has the situation under  
control."

Bashir gave Worf a puzzled look, standing back to allow the Klingon to  
push himself off the biobed. "If you say so. Tell Garak I need him to  
come in next so I can treat his wounds."

Worf paused. "I prefer to keep Mr. Garak on the bridge for now. There  
are things we need to discuss in private. I will send the Romulans in  
first."

"All right," he said with a frown, "but his wounds are in need of  
treatment, so tell him I want to see him as soon as he's available. If  
he wants to change first and have a shower that's fine. But hold on,"  
he said as the two Klingons headed for the door. "Comm badges." He  
punched a command into the replicator and three badges appeared  
followed by a Starfleet uniform. "If you want to replicate new  
uniforms..."

"Thank you, Doctor," Martok said, clasping his forearm as they affixed  
their badges to their tattered uniforms. "We'll wait until we're  
certain the bridge is secure."

He shook his head as they left. Help a Klingon, he thought, and he's  
your friend for life.

******

"You're looking better." Garak said, glancing up at Worf and Martok as  
they entered the bridge.

"Feeling better as well, Mr. Garak!" Martok said heartily as he strode  
over to tactical. "Mr. Regor, if you wouldn't mind giving me the  
tactical seat, I would most appreciate it. From what I remember of our  
many conversations your skills are best served at the communications  
console."

"That they are, General," the Romulan said, rising from his position  
and gesturing to his chair. "With pleasure."

Martok eyed the cushioned seat warily. "These Federation warriors are  
almost decadent with their comforts. On my ship there are no seats and  
the beds are bare metal tables with no blankets to speak of."

"After months in that prison, General, I look forward to experiencing  
some Federation decadence for a while until we return to the Romulan  
fleet." Regor arched his eyebrow. "In fact, I'm even tempted to ask  
the Federation to keep me on as a prisoner of war if their prison  
cuisine is as tempting as the menu on the food replicators."

"At least someone appreciates your replicator programming, Mr. Worf,"  
Garak said as he rose from the captain's seat and returned command to  
his senior officer.

"I'd defect for a hot shower and some clean clothes," Kalenna said,  
turning away from the helm for a moment.

"Dr. Bashir wishes to see each of you in sickbay once you have  
showered and changed into clean clothing," Worf said as he stood in  
front of the captain's chair. "Mr. Regor and Mr. Kalenna, you are free  
to go. Once the doctor has pronounced you fit, you are to return to  
the bridge and resume your duties until you are relieved. Understood?"

They all agreed.

"The replicators are only programmed for Starfleet uniforms. If you  
choose to wear them, you may remove the jacket in order to  
differentiate yourselves from Starfleet," Worf added.

Martok snorted. "I seriously doubt I'll be drummed out of the Klingon  
Empire for wearing Starfleet colors on my back under these particular  
circumstances, Worf, but I appreciate your gesture of conciliation."

"We Romulans may be more open than our Vulcan cousins, but we are just  
as practical," Regor said as Kalenna nodded in agreement. "A clean  
uniform is a clean uniform."

Worf nodded. "I will tell the doctor to authorize the replicator to  
assign you all a uniform without rank insignia. Mr. Garak, you are, of  
course, already authorized to replicate a uniform. You will be  
relieved when Mr. Regor and Mr. Kalenna return. When you report back  
to the bridge, please do so with your full military insignia intact."

"Aye, sir," Garak answered, immediately understanding why Worf would  
choose to have him appear in full dress. The uniform would give him  
more standing with the Romulans, who didn't know the two of them. Thus  
far he hadn't had any problems in maintaining his authority but once  
the initial shock had passed issues could arise.

He had to admit that although he hadn't been overly enthusiastic about  
working with Worf, the Klingon had a sharp mind for tactics and  
diplomacy, especially for a Klingon. Usually the Klingon mentality was  
such that they usually sought out conflict rather than avoiding it,  
but Worf was far more reserved and logical than the average Klingon.  
He kept his focus sharp, and because of that Garak had to admit he was  
beginning to develop a grudging respect for the man.

He might be as stiff as a board and about as fun as a cluster of  
Vulcans at a dinner party, but the man was good at his job.

After the Romulans left, Worf took his position at the captain's seat.  
"Lieutenant," he said to Garak, "if you would join me, I wish to have  
a quick word with you."

Martok busied himself at the tactical, giving them some sense of privacy.

Garak rose, only mildly disconcerted by Worf's use of his as of yet  
unconfirmed rank. "What's wrong?" Garak asked in a low tone.

Worf turned to Garak. "When you see the doctor I want you to fully  
disclose to him your personal relationship with the Founder."

Garak tightened his jaw. "I was actually hoping to wait until–"

"Tell him now and that's an order," Worf commanded softly. "We need  
everyone alert and on point when we arrive at the station. If he is  
not aware of all of the variables, it may jeopardize our mission." He  
cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I do not know the doctor well, but  
I do know enough to reasonably hypothesize that this news will come as  
a shock to him. Telling him now will give him eight hours to process  
the information and deal with it constructively."

Garak's face hardened and he looked away. "Very well."

Worf shifted uncomfortably. "I dislike...delving into the personal  
lives of my subordinates, but it is vital to the mission that all of  
us, even the Romulans, are acting as a team. It is for...the greater  
good."

"You don't have to sell me, Commander. I had planned on doing it  
anyway, just...on Bajor, after I had given some thought to how to  
approach him." He sighed.

"The whole truth may be harsh, but it is efficient." Worf sat back  
then and with a clear voice said, "You have your orders."

As Garak walked back to take his seat at the helm he felt his stomach  
clench. As bad as the Jem'Hadar prison had seemed, he knew the true  
hell was only just beginning.

******

A bemused Bashir watched the Romulans leave in their new uniforms.  
Romulans in Starfleet colors: now there was a sight he would never  
forget.

Garak would likely be at least another ten minutes, he thought; enough  
time to make himself presentable. As he entered the sickbay shower and  
set the sonics on high, letting the grease and dust and sweat and  
blood lift off his skin and hair and fall in a fine powder to the  
floor of the stall, he promised himself that he'd have a real shower  
with hot water as soon as he could, but not before he got some  
answers.

He emerged from the stall and dressed, then returned to the main room.  
Garak hadn't arrived yet, so he went over to the prep table and rooted  
around in the drawer until he found the sonic shaver, then found a  
mirror and began to remove his beard. Most of the prisoners had been  
either beardless or (like Martok) had let their beards grow, but  
Bashir had preferred to remain clean-shaven. The prison bathrooms had  
luckily been equipped with sonic shavers; unluckily, they had been set  
for tougher skin than Humans had, so he spent the first week looking  
like a spotty teenager until Regor taught him how to adjust the  
settings. And then there was the morning he had walked in and found  
Martok shaving his feet...

"Dr. Bashir."

He shut off the shaver and turned to Garak. "How long until-" and he  
stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open, his eyes widening in  
shock.

Garak was wearing a Starfleet uniform.

Bashir took in the mustard-yellow turtleneck, the black trousers, the  
standard issue shoes, the jacket tossed over one arm. Services, his  
mind told him, or at least the part that wasn't completely gobsmacked.  
And a full lieutenant if the pips were to be believed.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he finally got out. "Is this some game, or-"

"It's no game, Doctor," Garak replied, cutting him off. "I apologize  
for not telling you earlier, but there was no time. I've held a  
position on Captain Sisko's command team for the past two months. I've  
also been offered a commission by Starfleet, although I haven't been  
sworn in yet. I'm wearing the uniform now because," and he looked down  
and gestured, "well, frankly because my clothing was completely  
ruined, but also because Mr. Worf's and my cover on this mission was  
that we were returning to Earth and that I would be sworn into  
Starfleet while we were there. As such, the Founder will be expecting  
me to return so dressed." He met Bashir's startled gaze. "We have no  
idea what's happening on the station, and until we find out I thought  
it best to go ahead and prepare for any possible outcome."

Julian gaped at him. "You cannot be serious," he blurted out.

"I'm afraid that I am," Garak said. "Suffice to say there have been  
some...changes since you left."

"I can see that. Feel free to fill me in." He cleared his throat  
nervously as he gestured to the biobed; Starfleet officer or not,  
Garak had been injured and needed medical attention. "Before we get  
into that, let me regenerate those burns and cuts on your torso."

"I've already taken care of the injuries I could reach, but there are  
a few on my back..." he said as he hopped up on the bed and pulled the  
turtleneck off. "Mainly below the shoulders and near the hairline. I  
did have a quick sonic shower to remove the grease."

"There's more than a few," Bashir replied, "especially where that  
temperature probe was digging into your skin." He zoned in on a nest  
of gashes over the spine of the right scapula, then worked down. "So,"  
he said, trying to keep a light tone to his voice, "how did you end up  
working for Sisko? I mean, it's an unusual career path, from spy to  
tailor to Starfleet officer. You've been assigned to tactical, I  
presume?"

Garak nodded silently, his hands clutched in his lap as if he were  
uncomfortable discussing the matter. Of course he would be, Bashir  
told himself; all this was probably almost as much of a  
through-the-looking-glass episode for Garak as it was for him.

"So you're now working with Mr. Worf and hemming trousers on the  
side?" he asked, hoping to defuse the situation with humor.

"It's a long and...complicated story," Garak said, his voice tentative.

"Try me."

He looked over his shoulder at the doctor for a moment, then spoke.  
"There was an incident on the station shortly after you - your  
imposter - claimed to have returned from the burn conference on Meezan  
IV. It began when the Founder and I captured a wanted Bajoran criminal  
named Colonel Ranol. Have you ever heard of a designer drug called  
Orange D?"

"Before I left I had dealt with a few of its victims, yes." Bashir  
replied. "This man was connected to it?"

"He was responsible for the Orange D epidemic on the station."

The doctor frowned. The drug problem on the station had always been  
irksome, but that was relatively common on any isolated station,  
especially one located outside Federation space. But the problem had  
never been that severe..."Was the Founder involved in this epidemic?"  
he asked, his stomach roiling as he suddenly realized the  
implications. "Was he trafficking drugs, or producing them, or-"

Garak held a hand up. "I can assure you that the Founder did not ruin  
your reputation in that manner. He simply assisted me in identifying  
and detaining the parties responsible."

"That's good to hear," he said, but something in the tone of Garak's  
voice bothered him. "There's more, isn't there?" he asked.

"A few weeks later," Garak continued, "I was asked by a vedek to  
investigate the apparent murder of her great-niece."

"A murder."

"A very interesting murder, if one can call the destruction of a  
living being interesting. As it turned out, her niece was also  
Shakaar's mistress."

"What?" He almost dropped the regenerator. "Shakaar's *mistress*? She  
\- Shakaar had a *mistress*? But he's dating Major Kira!"

Garak snorted. "Shakaar Edon would hardly be the first man in history  
to become involved with two women at the same time, Doctor. Surely you  
realize that."

"Well, of course," he said, trying not to splutter, "but I would have  
thought Kira'd pound him through the floor if he tried something like  
that. And why would the vedek go to you and not the authorities?"

"It was a somewhat delicate matter, as you can imagine," Garak replied  
as he pulled his turtleneck back on and Bashir started on the burns  
just under Garak's hairline. "Suffice to say, there were...other  
issues involved. The vedek was once in Bajoran Intelligence, so she  
had some knowledge of my abilities. As a supporter of Shakaar's she  
didn't quite trust the police with the information she had been  
provided, but she wished the death to be investigated. Captain Sisko  
allowed your substitute to assist me, and we were eventually able to  
determine that the victim had been murdered by the campaign manager  
for the Bajor First Party candidate in the ministerial elections. The  
candidate himself was blameless, but his wife was identified as an  
accessory after the fact." He turned his head slightly. "It also might  
interest you to know, just for the sake of total disclosure: the  
victim was pregnant with Shakaar's child."

He stared at the back of Garak's head. "My God," he said, recalling  
Shakaar's medical history. "He must have been devastated; he lost a  
daughter in the occupation. Did he know about the child?"

"Not until after the woman died." Garak's voice was thin. "She was  
only a few weeks along."

But Garak had mentioned the imposter again. "The Founder helped?" he  
asked, keeping his voice non-committal as he healed the last burn and  
shut off the regenerator. Founders, especially mature ones, were  
natural mimics, and he could imagine a casual friend or colleague not  
catching onto some of the differences.

"He did."

"Did you work with him on any other projects?"

"Not exactly..." Garak's shoulders were unnaturally stiff; as he  
pulled the padded uniform jacket on over his turtleneck, Bashir  
realized that the Cardassian was afraid to meet his eyes.

He put down the regenerator. "Garak, what's going on?"

Garak eased himself off the biobed and turned to face him, his eyes  
resting on the far wall. "You're right that we - collaborated on  
certain matters. But it was more than that, I'm afraid."

He was confused by the look in Garak's eyes. "You were friends then?"

"It was..." and Garak gave him a pained look, as if he were  
apologizing for something unspeakable. "It was more than that," he  
repeated.

"You were-"

Garak's face was a granite mask. "We became lovers, Doctor."

For just a moment Bashir imagined that he had died and gone to some  
wildly surreal afterlife. "Lo-" he tried to say, but the word would  
not come. His vision swam. It wasn't possible; it just wasn't-

"We initiated a relationship," Garak continued. "He - Doctor, allow me  
to be blunt. He pursued me, I fell in love with him, and when we were  
on Bajor investigating the death of Kel Sinles, he proposed marriage."  
He took a deep breath. "I accepted."

Bashir felt behind him for a chair, dropping onto it as the enormity  
of what Garak had just said hit him. Garak had - the Founder had - how  
could this be?

"I know this comes as a shock to you, doctor, but--"

A wave of pure rage suddenly overtook him as he glared up at the man.  
"You - idiot!" he spat out, his eyes riveted to Garak's face. "You  
goddamned fucking idiot! Were you lobotomized as well?!"

"I understand your rage, but you have to understand-" Garak began, but  
Bashir was too angry to listen.

"This is - this is ridiculous!" he shouted as he rose to his feet  
again, his eyes blazing in righteous fury. "Are you telling me that  
after five years of being your friend," and he spat that word out, "or  
maybe I should say your acquaintance since it's bloody obvious that  
you don't know me as well as I thought you did, I suddenly turned into  
some raving sex maniac and dragged you off to bed and you didn't even  
notice there was a problem?" He threw his hands in the air. "Didn't it  
occur to you that seducing *you* of all people is the last thing I  
would ever do? Didn't it occur to you that it might be a sign that I  
had been replaced? Or did you just go along with it because you were  
so fucking desperate to get laid that you didn't care?!"

Garak opened his mouth, but after looking into Bashir's eyes he  
suddenly took a step backwards.

Good thing too, Bashir thought, as his hands curled into fists; just  
for a moment he imagined himself snapping Garak's neck. Instead,  
though, he spun around, unwilling to face that traitorous face one  
second longer.

The comm system suddenly came to life. //Worf to Garak. We're  
approaching communications range with Bajor.//

"I have to report to the bridge," Garak said, his tone even and calm.

"Get the hell out of here," Bashir snarled, shaking with anger as he  
kept his eyes on the wall.

He heard Garak tap his comm badge. "Acknowledged. On my way. Maintain  
comm silence and cloak. Have Kalenna adjust our warp signature so we  
can avoid being detected by the station's sensors."

//Already done. Worf out.//

He glanced back at Garak; the man was looking at him sadly as if he  
were thinking of saying something, but then he turned, apparently  
changing his mind.

But Bashir wasn't done yet. "I guess that Founder really must be  
something if he could practically turn you into a member of  
Starfleet," he spat.

"Julian..."

"You don't have the right to call me that," he broke in. "My name is  
*Doctor* Bashir, *Mister* Garak. You are not my friend."

"Very well, doctor," Garak said. "Shall I tell Commander Worf you'll  
be joining us on the bridge?"

"I'll be there as soon as I put away these instruments."

After he left, Bashir glared at the doorway as another wave of icy  
rage consumed him. Sure, he'd put away the instruments: he'd shove  
them right up Garak's skinny Cardassian arse.

Garak had been the one man he had hoped would notice he had been  
replaced, the one man he had hoped would come to their rescue, the one  
man he had hoped would return them to the Alpha Quadrant.

But the one man had instead chosen to spend three long months fucking  
the Founder who had replaced him.

Bashir picked up the dermal regenerator, then hurled it against the  
wall so hard that it left a dent.

******

Garak stepped into the turbolift and ordered the computer to take him  
to the bridge.

Damn, he thought closing his eyes. Worf had been right, though: it was  
better that he get it done now then wait for Bashir to figure it out  
on his own.

Some naive part of Garak's mind had hoped — but no. That was not his  
Julian. His Julian was a fantasy.

He always had been.

He shook off his unease and focused. He had a job to do. After it was  
done, then he'd deal with the rest.

Garak entered the bridge and walked over to Worf. "How long before we  
reach Bajor?"

"Another eight hours at least." He looked at the Cardassian curiously.  
"I'm assuming you want to go to Bajor because you think our Founder  
may still be unaware of our true mission."

Garak nodded. "We need to buy Sisko all the time we can. If anything  
has happened, hopefully Owin Grea might know and can give us a  
heads-up. If the station is under attack we'll go in, weapons hot."

"A sound strategy," Worf said approvingly.

"As I told you, Worf, these Cardassians are a clever race!" Martok  
said from his place in tactical where he had relieved Regor, who was  
now manning communications. "Tain was especially so." He nodded at  
Garak, smiling broadly. "You take after your master in that regard,  
Mr. Garak. Wherever his soul resides, I am sure he is looking upon you  
with favor."

Somehow I doubt that, Garak thought, but nodded politely toward the  
General nonetheless.

"Owin Grea? Who is he?" Worf asked.

"I met him when Jul-" He paused and started again. "I met him when *I*  
was working on the investigation into the murder of that girl on  
Bajor. He's Vedek Merel's ranjen. I can send a message through him to  
Sisko that can't be intercepted by the Founder."

"Why do you not just contact First Minister Shakaar?" Worf asked with a frown.

"If the Founders have infiltrated the station they may have also  
infiltrated the Bajoran government," Garak answered. "I seriously  
doubt that the Founders see any strategic value in infiltrating the  
Bajoran clergy and, because Sisko is the Emissary to the Prophets, a  
late call from a ranjen or vedek won't seem out of place."

Garak stood by Worf as they both turned to the holographic pad near  
the command seat. "Mr. Regor, open a channel and contact Ranjen Owin  
Grea at the Capital Temple in Dakhur Province."

"Transmitting now," Regor said.

As the stately image of Owin appeared before them, Bashir exited the  
turbolift and froze. That's right, Garak thought: the doctor wasn't  
here when this new holographic comm system was installed on the  
Defiant.

He shook off the now-familiar sense of unease he experienced whenever  
he was reminded that the man who he had shared so much with was merely  
an illusion.

"Mr. Garak! What a surprise!" Owin said, then stopped, taking in the  
Cardassian's exhausted, shadowed face. "What happened to you?"

"Ranjen Owin, I'm sorry to contact you so late at night, but we have a  
bit of an emergency. We need the coordinates of a safe location on  
Bajor where we can land the Defiant, and we need you to ask Vedek  
Merel to contact Captain Sisko immediately."

"What's wrong?" the Bajoran asked, his face tight with concern.

Garak sighed. "It's...a long story. The Vedek needs to let Sisko know  
that Dr. Bashir has been replaced by a Founder."

Owen's eyes widened as he turned to Bashir, who had taken a place  
beside Worf. "A shapeshifter? Doctor, is that true? Are you all  
right?"

"Actually," Garak interrupted before Bashir could reply, "Dr. Bashir  
was replaced roughly three months ago."

"Then-" Owin's mouth dropped open. "Then that means-"

Garak gave him a grim nod. "I'm afraid so. We're on our way back from  
the Gamma Quadrant with the real Dr. Bashir and a number of other  
former prisoners, including General Martok of the Klingon Empire. It  
also appears as if an invasion force may be forming on this side of  
the wormhole."

Owin nodded. "And you want the Vedek to call the Emissary tonight and  
tell him this."

"No," Garak said hastily, shaking his head. "The Captain's  
communication system is likely monitored, or I'd have contacted him  
directly. We'd like the Vedek to ask the Emissary to meet her at the  
station temple tomorrow morning. I doubt the Dominion has bothered to  
place listening devices there, and she can provide him with the  
necessary information in safety."

"Quite sensible," the ranjen said. "Do you want to land at the monastery?"

Garak looked at Bashir out of the corner of his eye; he hadn't  
mentioned the children yet, and the last thing he wanted to do was  
confuse the youngsters. He also didn't want to get into details with  
Reven and Danna. "I don't think that would be appropriate," he said.  
"Dr. Bashir is not familiar with the monastery or its inhabitants." He  
gave Owin a sharp look.

Owin nodded, his eyes showing he understood. "I see your point. We do  
have a sister institution in Hendrikspool Province. I'll send you the  
co-ordinates and after I speak with Vedek Merel I'll let them know  
you're on your way."

He let out a breath. "Thank you. We should arrive on Bajor in  
approximately eight hours, or early morning your time. I should  
mention that three members of our crew will have to remain on the  
planet after the Defiant returns to the station."

"I'll let them know they'll be having visitors. Good luck, Mr. Garak.  
May the Prophets protect you."

"Thank you," he replied.

"Commander Worf, may I speak to you down in Sickbay?" the doctor said,  
his voice cool as the ranjen's image disappeared from the holopad. He  
didn't look at Garak at all.

Worf rose from his seat and turned to the Cardassian. "Lieutenant, you  
have the con," he said, nodding at Garak before heading towards the  
turbolifts with the doctor.

Garak returned his nod and took his seat in the command chair, staring  
out into the emptiness of space displayed on the viewscreen before  
him. He didn't bother guessing what or who Bashir wanted to talk to  
Worf about. He knew.

It didn't matter; Julian Bashir was nothing if not professional. He'd  
deal with the information and do his job despite any personal  
conflicts he might have with a fellow officer.

Garak knew that. He knew what to expect. He also knew that eventually  
the doctor might even bring himself to be somewhat civil to him, at  
least when they were in the presence of others, but it was cold  
comfort.

It certainly didn't relieve the knot of pain which had been building  
in his chest ever since he had discovered that everything he had  
experienced for the last several months was nothing but a lie.

******

"Computer, halt turbolift." Bashir glared at Worf, his arms crossed as  
he leaned back against the turbolift walls. "Commander," he snapped,  
"perhaps you'd like to explain some things to me."

"You have spoken to Mr. Garak, I presume," Worf said.

"Yes, I have. Was he telling the truth?"

The Klingon's face darkened. "I am uncertain as to exactly what he has  
told you-"

"He said he spent the last three months in a 'relationship' with the  
Founder," he said, unable to keep a snide, surly tone out of his  
voice.

"As far as I know, that is an accurate account." Worf straightened his  
shoulders. "Doctor, allow me to be frank. I ordered Mr. Garak to  
disclose the information to you privately as soon as it was possible  
for him to do so. I felt you needed to be informed by him  
specifically, as I do not consider it appropriate to discuss the  
personal relationships of my subordinate officers, nor do I feel it  
necessary to concern myself with them unless, as in this instance,  
they interfere with duty. Your relationship with Mr. Garak before this  
incident is also none of my business."

"None of your-" He stared open-mouthed at Worf. Relationship *before*  
this incident? Did Worf think-

"However," he continued, "I must remind you that we are currently on a  
mission. The future of Bajor and of the Federation may depend on our  
ability to complete it. I require your full attention to the task at  
hand. One of the reasons I asked Mr. Garak to speak with you now was  
to allow you time to...digest the implications of what had happened  
before we arrived on Bajor."

"You mean the fact that everyone thinks Garak and I are engaged to be married."

"In part." Worf's face was unreadable.

He ran a hand over his eyes. If there was more to it, he'd find out  
eventually, he realized, but Worf had a point: they were on a mission.  
"Of course," he finally said. "It's just that - Commander, you were in  
that hellhole for less than 16 hours if I recall correctly. I was in  
there for over three months, but so much has changed that I feel as if  
I've ended up in another mirror universe."

"That is understandable," Worf replied. "I only ask as your superior  
officer that you attend to the mission at hand with your full  
concentration."

He nodded, forcing himself to keep calm. "There's just one thing. Tell  
me," and Bashir searched Worf's face carefully, "did the Founder harm  
anyone that you know of? Medically or otherwise? It may have  
implications for the mission," he added quickly.

"No personnel that I know of have been physically harmed," he said.  
"The Founder did perform brain surgery on Captain Sisko-"

Bashir swore under his breath.

"-but I have not heard of any other situations that might have arisen."

"Thank God," he breathed. "I'll have to examine the Captain as soon as  
we return, though. The Founder might have planned to destabilize Bajor  
by harming him; sometimes the symptoms of a brain injury can develop  
over time." He sighed. "I just keep asking myself: why didn't Garak  
notice? It just - why the hell would he think-"

Worf held up his hand to stop him, "Doctor, I agree that you have been  
dishonored by this ptaQ," he said, growling the last word, "but for  
now I must insist that for the sake of the mission you leave unfocused  
and inappropriate anger behind. Seek to avenge yourself only on the  
perpetrator and not on another of his victims." He gave Bashir a  
sympathetic look, or what Bashir supposed passed for a sympathetic  
look from a Klingon. "Although I understand your...discomfort at the  
concept of an intimate relationship with Mr. Garak, your current state  
of agitation would be detrimental to the mission were it to continue  
and, in my opinion, is unjustified. As much as it pains me to say  
this, Mr. Garak has acted honorably toward all involved. Before he  
knew of the Founder's true identity, I also assure you that his  
feelings toward that creature were also genuine and appeared to be  
reciprocated."

Bashir allowed that to sink in, his body numb with a conflict of emotions.

"You were not the only victim in this deception, doctor," he  
continued. "Garak was also dishonored by the treachery of the Founder.  
Channel your rage and use it to make the Founder answer for his crime,  
but I will not have you attack Mr. Garak in front of the other members  
of this crew. Understood?"

"Aye, sir," he replied, the muscle in his jaw working. He hadn't been  
planning on attacking Garak but, again, Worf was right: Garak wasn't  
the villain here, and the Founder had to be stopped. There was more at  
stake than just his embarrassment and wounded pride.

"If you need a moment to compose yourself," Worf started, but Bashir  
held up his hand.

"I'm a soldier first, Commander," he said. "I can still do my job."

"Very well. Bridge."

As the turbolift doors opened, Worf turned to the doctor. "Dr. Bashir,  
please man the science console. Mr. Garak, take the helm alongside Mr.  
Kalenna."

Garak nodded tersely and rose, his eyes avoiding Bashir's. Worf sat at  
the command chair and settled in comfortably.

Despite himself Bashir kept glancing in Garak's direction, again  
wondering what all this meant. Especially Worf's words: 'your  
relationship with Mr. Garak before this incident'. What did that mean?  
Did Worf think he and Garak had been lovers before the Founder  
kidnapped him? Or did it just mean that he had seen the potential of  
that relationship? He snorted to himself: if Worf had seen it,  
residents of adjacent sectors - hell, Keiko's bonsai plants - had  
probably seen it as well.

It was ridiculous, he thought, as he punched in a series of commands  
and began to scan the area. Worf probably got the idea from Jadzia,  
whose main goal in life sometimes appeared to be spreading as much  
gossip about her colleagues as possible. But where would she get the  
idea? Yes, he admitted reluctantly, he had noticed that Garak was an  
attractive man and he had considered pursuing something physical with  
him, but he had quickly changed his mind after realizing just how  
dangerous the man could be. It didn't mean anything; he'd felt that  
way about other individuals in his life and in this case he was  
certain he hadn't been obvious. Or perhaps he just hadn't been as  
discreet or as clever as he thought he'd been. After all, the idea of  
being with another man was hardly anathema to him. It was the rest of  
it. It was the idea that Garak could love him so completely-

Not him, he corrected himself: that thing pretending to be him. The  
soulless doppelganger that stole his life.

He wasn't going to pretend that it didn't hurt, though. He had to  
wonder: how much of Garak's love had been for that thing and how much  
had been for him? It didn't take a genetically enhanced genius to  
notice that Garak had been attracted to him. But there was a vast span  
between wanting to take a man to bed and wanting to spend your life  
with him.

His eyes rested on Garak again. It was wrong to be angry, he knew, but  
he simply couldn't shut off his emotions that easily. He was angry,  
partly because Garak hadn't noticed but mainly at himself for never  
having the guts to have tried. And his chance was gone. Not only had  
he lost a potential lover, no matter how unlikely that possibility had  
seemed to him 26 hours ago, he'd also lost a friend. If he were in  
Garak's position, he'd never want to see Julian Bashir's face again.

******

//Captain! Thank you so much for taking my call. I apologize for the  
lateness of the hour.//

Sisko adjusted the belt on his robe and sat down in front of the comm.  
"Not at all, Vedek Merel. It's always good to hear from you. What can  
I do for you this evening?"

//I am planning a trip to the station and wondered if you would join  
me in the morning to bless the Temple on your station. I realize  
you're busy, but...// she said, her smile gentle and warm as she  
looked at him from the screen.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but unfortunately I have to remain in Ops tomorrow.  
We're in the middle of a drill right now, and-"

//Normally I wouldn't be so insistent, Captain, but my schedule is  
such that this is the only time I can get away from Bajor right now.//

Although her voice was relaxed and even, Sisko caught her use of his  
title of 'captain' instead of 'emissary'. "I'll see what I can do. Is  
there anything else you need?"

//That will be enough, Emissary, thank you.// Merel paused, then said,  
//It's a shame Mr. Garak won't be there. I haven't seen him since my  
niece's funeral. The last time I spoke to him, though, he said  
everyone was fine and in good health.//

Garak, you clever bastard, Sisko thought silently. "We are, yes. I  
hope to have Mr. Garak back on board very soon. When he returns I'll  
be happy to pass along your message."

//No need. I'm sure I'll see him soon,// she said, her eyes meeting  
his steadily.

Confirmation. "I'll meet you in the Sanctuary first thing in the  
morning, Vedek. Good evening."

//Blessed are the Prophets whose light shines upon you, Emissary. Good night.//

Sisko leaned back into his chair and rubbed a hand over his bald head,  
breaking into a grin. If Garak and Worf were back, that meant they had  
the Defiant. Even with Gilhouly's team still more than a day away,  
they might have a fighting chance.

The captain suddenly froze. He would have to wait until tomorrow to  
find out who the Founder was on his team.

He could only hope that whoever it was, they wouldn't execute whatever  
plan they had concocted. Until he knew exactly who Worf and Garak had  
found when they followed that signal into the Gamma Quadrant, they  
weren't safe.

None of them were.

******

Unlike the monastery at Belava, Hendrikspool Monastery was not an  
orphanage. It was a retreat where the majority of members had taken  
strict vows of silence and had sworn off of any modern comforts except  
the bare minimum of hot and cold water and an emergency comm system.  
Their purpose in doing this was to achieve a sense of peace and  
self-reflection. This worked in their favor since Hendrikspool was  
located on a remote, rocky island in the center of the North Balsak  
Sea. The only way in or out was by boat or shuttle and the only  
occupants of the island were the prylars.

The monk in charge welcomed them with a hushed voice as he explained  
the rules and terms of their stay. They would not be allowed in the  
actual sanctuary except on Fridays, when they could take communion  
with the brothers. They would be housed in a collection of cabins  
outside the walls of the monastery for the entirety of their stay. The  
cabins were there to house secular visitors who wished to visit the  
island and live without modern conveniences for a time.

Obviously they didn't often get a lot of visitors, Garak had thought  
as the monk continued to deliver his instructions in a low voice.

They could wander the island as they wished and make use of the  
kitchen and dining house set aside for visitors, but would not meet  
with any of the brothers and sisters who were sheltered within the  
Sanctuary walls. Two of the prylars, Brother Nelem and Brother Gar,  
would be available to the guests if they needed anything, and the  
dining cabin had a working subspace comm unit but no replicators.

Like Belava, Hendrikspool was completely self-sufficient. Grains and  
root vegetables, the mainstay of the prylars' diet, were grown in the  
silty soil surrounding the monastery, and seafood was harvested from  
the surrounding ocean. The larder of the kitchen was stocked and would  
be replenished when needed. They were free to use the boats and tackle  
provided and could stay as long as they wished with the understanding  
that they would clean up after themselves and not disturb the other  
inhabitants.

It was perfect. Remote, quiet, and on the far side of Bajor so it was  
unlikely anyone on the station, especially the Founder, would look for  
them there.

It was also cold, blood-curdlingly so. They had landed the Defiant on  
a flat stretch of rock outside of the buildings that encircled the  
high walls of Hendrikspool Sanctuary. Cold blasts of air from the sea  
had torn right through the uniform Garak had once thought quite warm.

It was six hours earlier in Hendrikspool than in Dakhur or on Deep  
Space Nine, so it was the middle of the night at the monastery when  
they arrived. Prylar Fin, the head monk, had informed them that the  
Ranjen had only told him that they required a discreet place to stay  
and that he was to personally see to their needs. The ranjen had gone  
on to say that he and the Vedek would be by in the morning to see  
them.

They were then led to a large building in the center of a circle of  
cabins and served a hot meal of groat soup and salted fish accompanied  
by crusty mapa bread, Bajoran ale, and a dessert which consisted of a  
dense cake topped with sliced moba fruit and a sweet cream sauce. It  
was simple but filling and surprisingly good. The dining hall wasn't  
much warmer than it was outside, though, so Garak had eaten quickly  
and retired to his room.

Besides, he thought, the only thing colder than the temperature  
outside and in were the looks the doctor kept throwing at him as they  
all gathered at the long dining table and ate in silence.

After he had entered his two-room cabin he inspected his temporary quarters.

These monks, unlike those at the Ministry of the Forgotten Children,  
were less interested in creating a home than they were in seeking  
solitude and quiet reflection. There was little in the way of luxury;  
just a single-sized bed with a firm mattress, a fireplace with a stack  
of wood, and a bathroom which had a basic shower, sink and toilet.

The good news was that the bathroom had real running water that was  
blessedly hot, and after Garak had quickly lit a roaring fire to warm  
the bedroom, he stripped off his uniform and jumped into the  
steam-filled shower.

Garak stood under the hot spray and moaned as the warmth of the water  
penetrated his bones.

He had never been so tired in his entire life. It wasn't just the fact  
that he had been awake for days now, it was everything. All the  
emotions, all the pain just wore on him to the point where he was now  
almost numb.

Prophets, what a fucking mess, he thought with unaccustomed vulgarity.  
What did this whole thing mean? Even if they did manage to get through  
this mess, then what? He wasn't even thinking about his love life. No,  
the idea of confronting that right now made his stomach want to turn  
itself inside out. What he was wondering about was everything else;  
his job, his home, his...everything. The real Julian Bashir couldn't  
even stand to be in the same room with him. How were they going to  
work together if he took the job Starfleet was offering? Could he even  
think about leaving the station? Would a transfer be possible? And the  
children...

Garak laid his hands against the shower wall and clenched his fists.  
Kela and Lewin: he hadn't even had time to think of how this was going  
to affect the adoption proceedings. It was difficult to qualify for  
single-parent adoption on Bajor at the best of times, and being a  
Cardassian, even one who was an officer with Starfleet...

Suddenly a crush of emotions and thoughts rushed through him and he  
felt the panic build in his chest. His first instinct was to find the  
nearest comm unit and speak to Merel or someone in Bajoran Social  
Services, but Merel was likely on the station by now. And even if it  
hadn't the middle of the night in Hendrikspool, he couldn't risk his  
inquiries getting back to the Founder.

The Founder.

Garak punched the wall in frustration, feeling the tiles crack under  
his fists. "Damn you, Julian!"

Or whatever your name is, Garak thought.

He suddenly had the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. He felt as  
though he were going insane. He couldn't think about this right now.  
He just couldn't deal with it. After this was settled he'd figure  
something out: he always did, right?

He finished his shower, quickly washing his hair and body, then  
stepped out into the cool bathroom and wrapped a towel around his  
waist. After he brushed his teeth he walked into the bedroom and  
picked up the suitcase Julian had packed for him.

He sat it on the bed and just stared at it, unable to even open it.

He and Worf had both scanned their bags for tracking devices and bugs  
before leaving the station. Both had been clean, but the contents of  
the bag still felt...tainted to him. He had replicated a uniform on  
the Defiant, so he supposed he could replicate a set of pajamas – if  
he could bring himself to brave the cold sea air again. His only other  
option was to sleep in the nude, but the room was still bitterly cold  
even with the roaring fire and several blankets on the small bed.

"Better this than going back out in to that damned salt-spray, I  
suppose," he sighed as he unzipped the bag. He was just reaching for a  
clean set of underwear when a knock came at the door. Tightening the  
towel at his waist, Garak called out, "Enter."

When Worf walked into the room, Garak was actually surprised. Some  
part of him had thought, hoped, it would be the doctor. But no, it was  
far too soon for them to salvage anything even close to a friendship  
right now.

"Commander," he said.

"I wished to discuss our plans for tomorrow with you if that is all  
right," Worf said, glancing around the room, obviously uncomfortable  
with Garak's state of undress.

"Allow me to dress and we'll discuss it." Garak said, grabbing some  
underwear, a t-shirt, socks, and a pair of heavy sweats before  
retreating to the bathroom.

"Of course," Worf replied, obviously relieved not to have to talk to  
him while he was practically naked.

Garak shook his head as he began to pull on his clothes. What was it  
Julian once said? When he made a joke one day about the Klingon's  
obvious discomfort with their sexual relationship? Worf was so tight,  
he squeaked. Julian then went on to snicker about his penchant for  
drinking prune juice and Garak merely rolled his eyes in distaste.

He stopped. That hadn't been Julian, he reminded himself again as he  
pulled on his socks. He had to stop thinking of the thing as a person.  
From now on, he would think of the destroyer of his life as just 'the  
Founder'.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Worf got straight to the point.  
"The Defiant has taken on noticeable damage and we have obviously not  
been gone long enough to have been to Earth and back," the Klingon  
said. "If we tell Sisko who the Founder is and he arrests him, we  
can't know if he has allies on the station or what his plan was."

"You have some ideas on what our next move should be?" Garak asked,  
drying his hair with a hand towel as he sat on the corner of the bed.

Worf shifted his stance a bit, again looking away from Garak, and  
said, "We'll tell the captain to inform Jadzia and The Founder that  
we're returning early because we were attacked by hostiles; marauders.  
We had to turn back because we took damage to our warp engines and  
lost long-range comm capabilities."

"Sounds good. We can sabotage the subspace in the morning to back up  
our cover story. We can distort our warp signature and go to cloak  
until we're out of range then head back as if we're coming back from  
our original heading," Garak said with a nod. "When we get there, we  
can maintain the illusion until we trap the Founder and subdue him.  
Unfortunately, the only holding cells we have capable of detaining a  
Founder are in Constable Odo's brig. We may have to suggest to the  
captain that he bring Chief O'Brien into the fold so he can come up  
with a way to create a force field around the shapeshifter after we've  
determined he isn't carrying a remote device on his person."

"There is another option," Worf said, his eyes locking onto Garak's.

Garak wasn't naive. He didn't need to ask what Worf was referring to.  
"You want to kill him."

"No." Worf didn't blink. "You should be the one to kill him."

Garak didn't answer him.

"Tactically, it would be the best plan," he explained. "The Founder  
believes you do not know who he truly is. He won't be prepared for an  
attack. You can wait until you are in your quarters and set your  
phaser to maximum."

"I thought the whole point of coming in under a cover story was for us  
to discover the Founder's true plan?" Garak asked, his voice cool and  
nonchalant as if discussing murder was an everyday occurrence.

Which, he admitted silently, was something that had once in his life  
been a very common occurrence indeed, but this...

"We'll transport the doctor off the Defiant and into a secure part of  
the station," Worf said. "I will ensure that the Defiant's transporter  
log is automatically erased in case the Founder or any of his possible  
confederates care to check. I will also ask the Captain to take the  
station's internal sensors offline for a few minutes; this will give  
you the opportunity to fire your phaser without triggering an alarm.  
When the shapeshifter is dead, we'll switch the Founder for the real  
Dr. Bashir, then wait to see if any of his fellow changelings reveal  
themselves to him." He fixed Garak with a steady look; his tone was  
cold and unrelenting. "This may not seem entirely... honorable to you,  
but it is the only way to secure the station and ensure that the  
shapeshifter does not see through our ruse. If we could meet this  
creature in fair combat it would be one thing, but their kind do not  
fight in the open like men. They hide and use others to do their  
killing. Given their grave cowardice, we are justified in employing  
these methods."

"You may have a point, and I do not disagree with you; however, I  
thought the Federation frowned on cold-blooded murder." Garak's eyes  
locked on the Klingon.

"They may, but you are also now a citizen of the Federation and are  
sworn to protect its people and interests by any means at your  
disposal. It is your responsibility to see to it the station is kept  
secure, just as much as it is mine. Or have you already forgotten the  
discussion we had earlier aboard the Defiant?" Worf challenged.

"I know my responsibilities and I also know where my loyalties lie,  
but the captain may not agree with your methods of keeping the station  
secure," Garak answered. "He tends to believe in due process, if  
you'll recall."

"This changeling has dishonored you," Worf stated.

"I thought you once said I had no honor?"

Worf appeared contrite. "I...was mistaken." He took a breath. "You  
have proved yourself, Garak. You saved my life and proved to be a  
worthy companion in battle. I owe you a blood debt."

"And your idea of paying back that debt is to petition me to commit  
murder?" Garak asked.

"It would not be murder," Worf objected. "It would be an act of  
self-defense committed to protect the lives of hundreds, possibly  
millions of people."

"Semantics," Garak said, then held up his hand when Worf began to  
object. "No, Mr. Worf, don't bother. I had already formed a similar  
plan before you even knocked on my door."

"So you are going to kill him?"

"I am," Garak said, his face hard.

"Do you...?" Worf's face trailed off and he looked uncomfortable once again.

"I never thought I'd be standing in the middle of a bedroom discussing  
my innermost feelings with you, Mr. Worf. Then again, you're the last  
man I would have expected to plot out an assassination. To answer your  
question," Garak said, looking up, "feelings don't turn on and off  
like a switch, even for a person such as myself. However, I will do  
what I have to do."

Worf nodded then walked to the door. When he reached for the doorknob,  
however, he stopped and turned to face Garak. "It takes a brave man to  
face his fears. It takes a braver man to rise above himself and do  
what must be done for the greater good. You have proven to be both  
this day."

Garak wasn't sure how to answer him, so in the end he said nothing as  
Worf left the room and shut the door behind him.

Garak shut off the light and crawled into his bed, willing sleep to  
come, but it wouldn't. Worf's words kept echoing in his brain. Emar  
would have laughed and made a comment about how Garak's life was  
beginning to echo the saga of The Never Ending Sacrifice.

It didn't feel very funny to him, however. Twice before he had loved  
and twice he had lost his lovers for the greater good; for honor and  
duty.

And now he was going to lose a third. Only this time it wouldn't be  
stray phaser fire or a cave-in that killed his lover, but Garak  
himself.

As he closed his eyes, images of times long past flooded his mind.

Tzenketh.

The very sound of the word filled his mouth with the taste of bile.

******

Bashir closed the door behind him, leaning against the cool wall of  
the monastery cell for a moment before removing his uniform and  
crawling into bed. Worf had given him four hours to rest, which was  
good because he was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

But after ten minutes of tossing and turning he gave up on sleep. One  
question kept revolving in his mind, the same question he had asked  
Worf: how could Garak have been so blind?

He snorted a bitter laugh as a cool breeze passed through the window  
and over the thin blankets that covered him. Of course he'd been blind  
to the change, Jules, he told himself: you're the one who worked very  
hard to ensure that nobody, not even Garak, could see beneath the  
surface to the man beneath it all. So how was Garak supposed to make a  
comparison? Garak didn't know what kind of person you were, your real  
likes and dislikes, quirks, insecurities and fears: he only knew what  
you wanted to show him, which was a brilliant (but not too brilliant)  
scientist who sometimes got carried away with himself.

Sometimes he wondered if there was still a real man beneath it all,  
though. He'd spent so much of his life hiding the inner man away, even  
from himself, that 'the real Julian Bashir' might have died and he'd  
never have noticed. It wouldn't be the first time he had died on the  
inside.

He punched the pillow and turned on his side. Back when he had been  
stuck in isolation, he'd often thought of Garak. Tain had said he  
'couldn't not come', and even Martok had become convinced (rightly so,  
as it turned out) that Garak would rescue them. But Bashir's thoughts  
on the enigmatic Cardassian had been less practical. He'd wished he'd  
been closer to Garak, but at the same time he'd justified his choice  
not to pursue a relationship with him as a sensible precaution. How  
could a man with a secret like his trust a man like Elim Garak?

The Founder did, a small voice in his head answered.

But did he? he asked back. Did the Founder really trust Garak, he  
wondered, or was it all some kind of elaborate ruse? Had he sought  
Garak out for some reason?

It suddenly hit him: Garak had twice attempted to destroy the  
Founders' homeworld, once with Tain, once by himself using the  
Defiant. He'd been convicted of attempted genocide and sentenced to  
six months in the DS9 lockup for the last attempt. The sentence had  
been so short that Bashir suspected someone in Starfleet was really  
punishing him for failing. Of course if he had succeeded he, Bashir,  
and the crew of the Defiant would be dead, but given what the Founders  
might be planning...

As his eyes closed of their own accord, his last thought before  
dropping into a dreamless sleep was that even if they prevented the  
Founder from committing whatever horror he was planning, the Dominion  
had still had their revenge on Elim Garak.

******


	7. Love and Loss

Chapter Seven: Love and Loss

******

Almost seven years had passed since that first winter he'd spent on  
Bajor, Garak mused as he lay in bed in the cold monastery cell,  
shivering against the bitter wind that rattled the window. If only he  
had known where it would have taken him, he never would have made the  
mistake of crossing Enabran Tain.

As he closed his eyes, the memories of what had happened seven years  
earlier began to play in his mind.

******

"Procal Dukat has been executed."

"I heard," Garak answered easily as he pretended to be engrossed in a report.

"You must be proud of yourself," Tain said, lighting his pipe. The  
sickly sweet scent of the herbs always made Garak want to sneeze, but  
he refrained from saying anything. Despite Tain's casual demeanor, it  
was obvious his mentor was angry with him.

"I just did my job, Tain." He glanced up from his PADD. "Just the way  
you taught me to: thoroughly."

"I taught you that?" Tain asked in exaggerated surprise. "I taught you  
to betray your own master by bringing down the father of one of the  
most powerful up-and-coming politicians in all of the Cardassian  
Empire?"

"I did not betray you," Garak insisted softly.

"I beg to differ." Tain walked over to a houseplant at the corner of  
Garak's office and pinched some soil between his fingers, sniffing it  
lightly. "I told you to drop the investigation against Zem and when it  
led you to Dukat, I told you to bury the evidence. Both times you  
ignored me and now," he said as he smiled at his protégé, "now, I am  
no longer just a retired spy-master enjoying his golden years in the  
Arawath Colony, but a virtual exile." He brushed the soil off his  
hands and gestured toward the leafy green foliage. "Your soil is too  
alkaline. You need to adjust the mix before you burn the roots."

"The soil is fine," Garak said a little impatiently. "And you are  
hardly in exile, Tain. Look around you - you're standing in my office.  
In Cardassia."

"There are many kinds of exile, dear boy. Physical exile, emotional  
exile," and he fixed Garak with a steady gaze, "political exile."

"Dukat is on his way out. The Bajoran occupation is ending soon. After  
all, he and his cronies can't squeeze blood from a stone. He's been  
painted with the same brush as Zem and his father. He won't go any  
further up the chain of command; his credibility is tarnished."

Tain snorted. "Credibility? Since when have Cardassian politics ever  
relied on the honesty of their politicians? I didn't raise you to be  
that naive, Elim."

"You didn't raise me, Enabran. You programmed me. There's a  
difference," Garak said stiffly.

"Ah, so now we've come to the root of this sudden streak of  
rebelliousness that's taken hold over you." Tain clucked his tongue  
and sat down on the couch across from Garak's desk. "Are you suddenly  
getting in touch with your inner child, Elim? Rebelling because I  
didn't kiss your booboos or read you bedtime stories?"

"Perhaps it's because I no longer work for you, Tain," Garak said with  
a dangerous smile. "You're retired, remember?"

"I see." Tain nodded sagely. "So it's not a quest for self-reflection;  
it's self-delusion that has you turned about."

"Aren't you late?" Garak drawled, tapping on his PADD. "I thought all  
you retirees had lunch at the social club this time of day?"

Tain's blue eyes flashed with anger, then calmed. "You need to be  
taught a lesson, boy. And I think it's long overdue."

"I haven't been a boy for a very long time, Enabran. You should know;  
you're the one who made sure my 'childhood' was as brief as possible,"  
Garak said without looking up from his PADD. "As for lessons, you  
taught me very well. The one you taught me best of all was never to  
let sentiment stand in the way of success."

"Enjoy your trip, Elim," Tain said with an enigmatic smile before  
closing the door behind him.

******

"So you're the new Black Aggie here to help me keep the Jories obedient, eh?"

Garak eyed Gul Koril with distaste. "I'm here to interrogate suspected  
members of the Bajoran Resistance, yes." What he didn't say was that a  
low-level Obsidian Order file clerk was better suited to this job than  
he was.

Elim Garak was the heir apparent to head the OO, but a week ago he had  
received orders, which sent him to Bajor - again. This time his job  
was to interrogate members of a Resistance Cell being held in the  
Brakar Prison near the Tzenketh mountain range.

It was a ridiculous assignment for someone of his experience and  
clearance level and it had Tain's fingerprints all over it. He was  
teaching him a lesson, all right, just like he had threatened a month  
earlier. Tzenketh Province was a backwater strip of countryside on a  
backwater planet and, to make matters worse, it was the middle of  
winter.

He knew what Tain expected him to do. One comm call with him  
apologizing for insulting him and he'd be back home sitting in front  
of a fire and drinking a rare vintage of kanaar. Until he did that,  
however, he was to 'assist' the odious Gul Koril with his Bajoran  
terrorist problem.

He felt like rolling his eyes. In less than a year the Occupation  
would be over, but the Bajorans were too stupid to see it. Already  
troops were pulling out. The planet no longer held any strategic value  
to Cardassia; the natural minerals and ores had been stripped and,  
other than a few field commanders who had grown attached to their  
comfort women, no sane Cardassian would want to stay here.

It was cold, wet, and boring. These people had no culture, no  
literature. If they weren't speaking rapturously about their invisible  
gods, they were cursing the 'spoonheads'.

Spoonheads. He felt like laughing the first time he'd heard the  
insult. The whole race was childlike and backward. He was only  
grateful he had never had to deal with Bajorans or their little planet  
\- that is, until recently.

And now he would be here until he gave Tain his pound of flesh.

His mouth tightened at the thought.

"Don't know what methods you use to get what you need from the Jories,  
but I don't much care either," Koril said, rubbing his obese stomach  
through his uniform. "Only thing I have to insist on is you don't get  
to fuck 'em before I get my go. You can have the leftovers; the ones  
who I'm bored with. Everything else is fine by me. You do as I say and  
we'll get along fine."

Garak felt like he needed a bath.

Gul Maros Koril was the product of what happened when a Great House  
failed to regularly marry outside its small circle of cousin Houses.  
Inbred and rich, he had neither the brains for university nor the need  
to ever work for anything. The patriarch of his house, his brother  
Delam, had recognized his sibling for what he was, a sexual deviant  
with violent tendencies, and sent him away from their home in Culat to  
a place and a career where he could not damage their family name.

Koril had turned the prison into his own private little fiefdom. Every  
Bajoran was his 'subject' to be used in any way he desired. He had an  
orchestra made up entirely of Bajoran prisoners who played music from  
the Imperial period every night as he ate his dinner. If one of them  
hit a wrong note, they were executed.

He also sexually abused his inmates. Unfortunately, this was not  
uncommon, although it was officially frowned upon. Such unions were  
not only seen as being beneath a member of the Cardassian Great  
Houses, but often led to the birth of hybrid bastards, which was  
illegal. However, out in the boondocks of Bajor, many a Gul had his  
fair share of bastards scampering about. Dukat had at least three or  
four that he knew of and the only reason Koril didn't was because he  
preferred his flesh young to the point of prepubescence.

He was utterly loathsome.

It was the perfect punishment, Garak thought grudgingly, and Tain knew  
it. Either Garak would beg him for forgiveness just to escape this  
hellhole or he'd wind up killing Koril and give Tain leverage. Even if  
he made it look like an accident, Tain would know the truth.

"I don't go about raping my prisoners, nor do I tolerate it from my  
subordinates," Garak said quietly. "I do my job, which is to extract  
information: nothing more, nothing less."

Koril sneered at him. "I don't like the way you just phrased that,  
'Garak'. I hope you don't get it in your head that I'm a subordinate  
to anyone, much less yourself."

"Of course not," Garak said smoothly. "I'm merely reassuring you of my  
professionalism."

Koril wasn't buying it. "I don't like you, Garak. I don't like your attitude."

"What a pity," Garak said with a slight nod. "And here we've just met."

Koril narrowed his pig-like eyes. "According to this set of orders I  
was given, your job is to assist me in any manner I see fit in regards  
to the interrogation of prisoners and the facilitation of my job to  
break the backbone of the terrorist cell occupying the Tzenketh  
Province." Koril smiled. "Isn't that correct?"

"It is," Garak agreed.

"In that case, report to Commander Sil. He'll show you exactly what I  
need you to do for me."

He knew he shouldn't have let his contempt of Koril show, just as he  
knew it was foolish to take on Tain's pride, but he'd done it anyway.

And now he was going to pay for it.

******

Commander Sil wasn't the jail warden or even a guard. He was the head  
of maintenance.

For the first week, Koril had Garak doing menial tasks around the  
prison: laundry duty, double guard shifts, and interrogating  
'suspected' terrorists who were more often than not homeless drunks  
and drug addicts crawling with mites and covered in their own filth.  
Still, he could not lodge a complaint about this because Tain had  
cleverly designed his orders in such a way that, had Koril asked Garak  
to clean the shit from his boot heels, he'd have had to grab a rag and  
scrub.

It was humiliating to say the least, but he held on.

The more Koril took out his rage on him, the more determined Garak was  
to not give in to Tain. Even if he were here a year, it didn't matter;  
the end was in sight and he knew it. Once the Occupation officially  
ended, his orders were to report back to Headquarters and continue on.  
He was determined to show his old master that he could outlast him  
once and for all.

It was two weeks after his arrival on Bajor that he met a young man by  
the name of Emar Varras, a junior officer attached to the prison who  
had also incurred the wrath of Koril and was assigned to the  
guardhouse with Garak on a particularly cold Bajoran night.

Emar was utterly charming. Their guard shack was on the far side of  
the camp, far from any of the cells, and butted against a rock face.  
There was literally nothing to guard except a chain link fence and a  
broken-down heating unit. Teeth chattering as they clung to their cups  
of hot broth and stared out over the frigid nothingness, they began to  
talk. It started out as just a casual conversation to pass the time,  
but as the night sped by, Garak became more and more intrigued by the  
young man.

Emar Varras was just twenty years old, the third son of a Gul who  
insisted he follow in his footsteps. Emar's mother was a researcher  
for the Cultural Attache and from a noble house so Emar was given  
every advantage a young man from Cardassia could ever want. He was  
sent to the finest schools, went to all the best parties, and was  
quite the lover of literature, although he despised music.

Especially classical music of the Imperial period.

That was what got him assigned to guard duty. Koril, wanting to rub  
elbows with his newest young officer who happened to be the favorite  
son of a powerful Gul, invited Emar to dine with him one evening while  
his Bajoran Orchestra played. Afterward, when Koril had asked him what  
he thought of the musical selections for that evening, he had made the  
mistake of answering him honestly.

The next night he found himself sitting in a guard shack engaged in a  
literary debate with Garak.

It was the beginning of the end.

Garak had never intended to wind up in Emar's bed, but after a month  
of scorching debate, one night the young man stopped in the middle of  
their discussion on the merits of the satirical works of Sarno and  
said, "So, when are you planning on asking me to join you in your  
quarters?"

Garak shrugged. "I wasn't, actually. After my shift I just go straight  
to bed usually. I'm usually too cold and tired to entertain anyone and  
I'm afraid the only furniture I have is a bed. We could go to the  
officer's lounge if you like, though."

"I didn't ask to go to the officer's lounge, Garak," Emar said slowly.  
"I asked to join you in your quarters."

"But I don't-" Garak stopped and stared at his companion.

"Do you always take this long to realize that you're being seduced, or  
am I just not your type?" Emar asked with a grin.

"Emar...I'm twice your age," Garak said quietly.

"Your cock still works though, right?" he asked.

Garak began to sputter out a response but Emar leaned in and kissed  
him. After several seconds of feeling the younger Cardassian's mouth  
caress his own, Garak had completely forgotten what he had been about  
to say.

He forgot everything in fact.

The cold, their age difference, his hatred of his assignment...all he  
knew was Emar Varras had the sweetest mouth he had ever tasted in his  
entire life.

That was the beginning of their love affair.

For six months they lived in one another's back pockets. They worked  
together, ate together, and slept together every night. Emar had  
requested to become Garak's bunkmate after the first week, explaining  
that because he worked the night shift with Garak they could sleep on  
the same schedule and not worry about keeping each other up.

But they did keep one another up. Every day they made love together  
and then talked until late in the afternoon, long after they should  
have been asleep. They talked about everything and anything, and after  
Emar confessed to Garak he was falling in love with him, they even  
discussed their future together.

"My father said that after I serve a year on Bajor, he'll see to it  
that I receive a posting anywhere I want. I'll be a full Gul in less  
than five years," Emar promised, his mouth swollen from Garak's kisses  
after a morning of heady lovemaking. "I've told him about you and he  
wrote me back saying your record is very impressive. He agreed with me  
that your skills are wasted here. After my year is up, you can come  
with me and join my father's command. He said he can always use a good  
operative. He does a lot of work with Military Intelligence."

"I already have a job, my love," Garak had said quietly as he caressed  
Emar's flat, muscular stomach. "After my assignment here, I'm to  
report back to Prime."

"But you don't have to!" Emar kissed him passionately. "Stay with me,  
Elim. Be with me."

Perhaps it was the cold or the frustration he felt toward being on  
Bajor as nothing more than a well paid night security officer, but  
Garak agreed to allow Emar to tell his father he would be interested  
in transferring to his command.

It wasn't long before Tain caught wind of his plans and decided to  
again step in.

Gul Koril had called Garak into his office and announced, "Command has  
decided that I haven't been using your...'talents' effectively.  
They've ordered you to report back to Cardassia Prime in one week.  
However," Koril grimaced, "until that time you are to interview and  
interrogate any prisoners which have been deemed as possible threats  
to the safety and lives of Cardassian citizens. Dismissed!"

In other words, Garak mused as he left the Gul's office, Tain heard  
about the inquiries Gul Varras was making and decided his pride wasn't  
as valuable as losing his best agent to a competing intelligence  
agency.

He thought about going ahead with the plans Emar had been making for  
them anyway, but decided against it. As an Obsidian Agent again in the  
good graces of Tain and having proved he was not afraid of his old  
master, he now had some leverage. Tain had blinked first.

He could bring Emar with him. Bring him into the Order or, if Emar  
chose, he could leave the service altogether and Garak would support  
him in any profession he chose. Emar had talked incessantly of  
becoming a writer but knew there was no money in such a profession so  
he had joined the military in accordance with his father's wishes.

Although homosexuality wasn't looked on with a great deal of favor in  
Cardassian society, Garak's position in the OO would grant him  
immunity from the professional backlash that might come of such a  
union and Emar was of a powerful enough house that society was  
obligated to accept them. Perhaps they'd even marry. Gul Varras knew  
of their relationship and did not object. In fact, he had been very  
pleased with his son's choice in a mate. Snagging the protégé of  
Enabran Tain meant, in his mind, that his son had developed a sense of  
strategy after all. Uniting his house with the house of Tain, even if  
it was through his unclaimed bastard, would be quite a coup for him.

When he lay in his young lover's arms the next morning and told him of  
his plans, though, Emar wasn't completely pleased. "It's not that I  
mind you going back, Elim, but I still have six months here. We'll be  
apart for so long."

"I'll talk to your father. He'll have you reassigned," Garak promised.

Emar rolled on his back and rubbed his hand over his forehead. "I suppose."

Garak looked down at his lover thoughtfully, his head resting on his  
palm and he propped himself up on his elbow. "I thought you hated  
Bajor."

"I do!" Emar said with a scowl. "The climate is atrocious, the food is  
appalling, and these people are stupid and utterly inferior. I want to  
leave here desperately!"

"Then come with me," Garak pleaded.

"But I have my duty, both to the position I accepted and to my  
father." He looked at Garak sadly. "I don't want to abandon it."

"Koril is a moron. He shouldn't be left in charge of a latrine, much  
less a prison," Garak scoffed. "Your father will understand."

Emar gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe."

"Not maybe, definitely." Garak smiled and gave him a kiss.

After they parted, Emar's eyes grew dark with concern. "You're going  
to be interrogating the prisoners tomorrow?"

"For the rest of the week, not that it will take that long," Garak  
snorted. "If there's even one genuine terrorist in any of Koril's  
cells then I'll eat a vole! The man just has whole crowds of Bajorans  
arrested, then keeps the ones he wants to either bed or keep as his  
personal slaves. When I get back to Cardassia I'm having that man  
brought up on any charge I can make stick. He's utterly incompetent!"

"But you'll still have to interrogate them, right?" Emar asked.

"Yes," Garak answered carefully. "Why?"

Emar sighed. "It's not that I like the Bajorans. Like I said, I find  
them more than a little primitive. But that doesn't mean I like seeing  
innocent people tortured or molested by Koril and his flunkies. Not  
that you would, but still, it bothers me."

"You have a sweet heart, my love," Garak said softly as he laid a kiss  
on Emar's chest embellishment. "I promise I won't 'torture' any  
innocents. As long as they give me the information I need and they  
aren't who I'm looking for, they're free to go."

"You're going to release Koril's pets tomorrow?" Emar asked wide-eyed.

"Quite a few of them, I suspect," Garak said with a smile.

"Oh, I so want to join you in the interrogations then!"

******

The next morning Emar and Garak began the arduous task of going  
through the list of suspected 'terrorists' one by one. By the end of  
the first day, Garak was exhausted, famished, and more than a little  
disgusted by the foul odor and condition in which Koril kept the  
detainees.

As he suspected, none of them were even close to being considered  
terrorists. Most of the prisoners he interviewed were skilled laborers  
Koril had picked up not for their ties to the underground cells but  
for what they could do for him. Emar had especially enjoyed it when  
Garak had ordered every member of Koril's Bajoran Orchestra released  
on the fact that there was no evidence that any of them had ever  
committed an act of sabotage against the State.

"I guess dinner just won't be the same tonight," Emar said, chuckling  
as he watched the last musician exit the gates.

Just as they were about to leave for the day, a guard herded a dozen  
or so ragged street urchins into the cell they had just cleared.

"What's this?" Garak asked, rearing back as the stink clinging to  
their bodies assaulted his senses.

"More 'terrorists' for Gul Koril," the guard answered, slamming the  
cell door. "Little bastards shit themselves and rub it in their hair  
thinking it'll stop Koril from choosing them as playthings." He  
grimaced. "We have orders to scrub them down and then take them up to  
his quarters for 'private interrogation'."

Garak looked at the filthy group of Bajoran children, not one of them  
older than twelve and the youngest no less than six. "Release them."

"But Gul Koril gave the order-"

"I said release them!" Garak barked out, eyeing the soldier with  
contempt. "I am the representative of the Obsidian Order here and all  
interrogations fall under my purview. I say that not one of  
these...creatures qualifies as a legitimate risk to the State. Release  
them now. They're stinking up the cells and I don't want them here  
when I return in the morning."

"But sir..."

"Unlock the door and empty your pockets," Garak ordered.

The guard obeyed reluctantly then handed Garak the few strips of  
latinum he had on him. Garak did the same then tossed them at the  
children who were cowering on the floor. "Take that money and go buy  
yourselves baths and clean clothes and the next time Gul Koril comes  
looking for you, hide. Spreading filth on yourselves, despite what  
your ignorant elders have told you, is not sound strategy for avoiding  
a man like Koril." He opened the door wider and tossed his head. "Go!  
Before I change my mind."

The children all snatched up the latinum and ran, many of them  
muttering 'thank you sir' as they rushed past him, their foul smell  
nearly knocking him back on his heels.

"You," he said looking at the guard contemptuously. "Have your men  
scrub out this cell from top to bottom then do the same with every  
other cell in this prison. I want every prisoner bathed and given  
proper toilet facilities before my associate and I return in the  
morning. When you are finished, put in a request to be reimbursed for  
the latinum I took off of you, I'll approve the order. Don't get  
greedy though, I counted it."

"Yes, sir!" the guard said, snapping to attention.

As they walked back to their quarters, Emar looked at him strangely.

"What?" he asked finally.

"Nothing," Emar said with a shrug. "I just don't know what surprised  
me more: the fact that yesterday you were peeling potatoes and today  
you're overriding the orders of a Gul without a second thought, or  
that you just casually let go a dozen prisoners without so much as  
getting their names."

"They weren't prisoners, they were children," Garak snorted. "And I  
let them go because the smell of them turned my stomach!"

"It wasn't procedure," Emar insisted.

"Nor is rounding up children so a Gul can vent his unnatural  
perversions upon them."

"You've just given him a legitimate opening to file a grievance, Elim."

"Let him!" Garak insisted. "Trust me, he doesn't want to see the  
challenge I'd submit in response."

"I hope you're right."

******

"So, this is familiar."

Garak shot his lover a withering glare. "You should rethink writing  
drama and try your hand at comedy instead, Emar."

Emar looked around the guard shack and smiled. "At least it's not cold  
out tonight."

"Joy."

"I warned you he'd get his revenge, Elim."

"Not quite," Garak corrected him. "It's only for the next two days and  
officially it's because one of the guards came down ill. Apparently,  
they drew lots and I was 'randomly' selected to take his shift. It's a  
nuisance ploy, that's all. Koril is having a temper tantrum. He knows  
that the sooner he lets me do my job the sooner I leave and he can  
restock his private brothel."

"If it's of any comfort, the last load of prisoners didn't smell too  
bad. I told the guards to make sure they stay that way when you get  
back," Emar said with twinkling eyes.

"Go to bed, Emar."

"You sure you don't want me to stay and keep you company?" he asked.

"Go, before I shoot you."

"Grumpy, aren't we?" Emar said with a laugh. "Goodnight, Elim."

"Goodnight," Garak huffed as he switched on the ancient space heater  
and settled in for a long night.

Around four in the morning, an alarm went off in the far distance.

//Attention all guard posts! A group of prisoners has escaped. Be on  
the lookout for a group of five Bajoran detainees last seen headed  
south. Your orders are to hold the detainees until assistance arrives.  
Avoid using lethal force if possible!//

In other words, Garak thought, Koril decided to take advantage of my  
'randomly picked assignment' and gather up some more toys that got  
away before he had time to play with them.

Didn't matter. They were going south and his post was far to the north  
of the prison. Garak picked up the thermos Emar had left him and began  
to sip his tea once again.

Some movement caught his eye a few moments later; he slowly put down  
his drink and reached for his side arm. He had turned off the lights  
in the shack because it was a full moon that night and the red  
filaments on the heater provided enough light for him to see his PADD  
comfortably. He stepped out of the shack and hid around the corner,  
watching the bushes carefully. As he watched, a young Bajoran female  
around 18 years of age ran toward the fence and pulled a laser cutter  
from her pocket. Just as she began cutting through the fence, Garak  
placed his phaser against her temple.

"Drop it," he commanded softly.

She let the cutter drop without a word and held up her hands slowly.  
"I'm unarmed."

"Oh, good. I'll just take your word for it then," Garak said  
sarcastically. "Forgive me, my dear, but I'll have to search you  
anyway. Hands up and away from your body, bend at the waist."

Garak ran his hands down her curves and up and down her legs and back  
slowly, feeling for any weapons or hidden devices. When he reached  
between her legs, she snapped, "So, you're the type of spoonhead who  
gets off sticking his fingers in an unarmed woman's cunt while you  
hold a phaser to her head? This must be your lucky night, huh?"

"Trust me, you're not my type," Garak said dryly. "Stand up, hands  
behind your back, wrists together. You cross me and I'll put you down  
so hard there won't be anything left for Koril to play with." He  
cuffed her quickly then swung her around and backed her against the  
guard shack. "Breaking out of your cell must have been a fluke. Anyone  
who would try to cut a fence in full view of a guard shack isn't  
exactly intelligent."

"The usual guard is sound asleep by now," she shrugged.

Garak looked at her carefully. "I'm not the usual guard."

"I figured that out when you stuck your phaser to my temple."

Garak looked at the young woman appraisingly. She was older than he  
first suspected. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four. Want me to give you my birthday next?"

"Where are your other escapees?"

"Just fuck me or shoot me, spoonhead. I'm not talking."

Garak looked at her carefully. She was, like all Bajorans, strangely  
blank-faced and without any sort of embellishments except the neat row  
of ridges on her nose. She was also very plain. She had freckles on  
her face and plain, mouse-brown hair and eyes; her figure was slim and  
unremarkable. Koril's men might have mistaken her for a much younger  
girl given her slim frame and almost insignificant bosom, but he  
doubted it.

It seems Koril had finally found a genuine terrorist after all.

"So the Resistance has decided to invade Koril's little castle, and to  
do what? Release some grubby faced children and musicians?" Garak  
asked. "Why not assassinate him or poison his troops? A few street  
children aren't exactly valuable to you or your cause."

"Not to you maybe," she snapped. "But then we aren't a bunch of  
cold-blooded Cardies who go about raping innocent children."

"L-let her go!"

Garak turned to see a small child of about seven holding a makeshift  
weapon in the form of a sharp stick toward him. "A friend of yours,  
perhaps?"

"Get out of here!" the girl ordered the child. "Run!"

"B-but Anwen-"

"Go!"

Another child, a boy of around ten, also emerged from the bush. "Put  
down the stick, Hanas."

Garak sighed, "You again. I thought I told you earlier if Koril's men  
came back you were to run? At least you took my advice and bathed  
first."

"I know you..." the boy said in surprise. "You're the Cardie who gave  
us the strips and told us to skin out."

"And apparently you didn't bother to pay attention to anything but the  
strips," Garak said, lowering his weapon but keeping an eye on the  
woman he had restrained. "There are supposed to be five of you; where  
are the other two?"

Two more small children, around six or seven, emerged from the underbrush.

"Well now, did you all come back hoping to be rearrested so you could  
get more latinum or are you just slow of foot?" he asked archly.

"We never made it out. That guard who you made empty his pockets had  
us restrained at the gate and took it all back. Then he had us hosed  
down," the smallest child answered softly, her voice trembling as she  
stood before Garak.

"I'll discuss that with the guard first thing in the morning. You-" he  
said, pulling the woman ahead of him and forcing her into the shack,  
"stay here!" he ordered, clipping her restraints to a hook in the wall  
so she couldn't run.

She struggled against her bonds. "Let me go, you pervert! If you touch  
those children I swear I'll-!"

"You'll what? Nag me to death?" Garak said, rolling his eyes. He  
slapped the button on the console of the guard shack and released the  
gate lock. He looked at the children from the window. "Do you know how  
to get home?"

"They're just babies! You can't send them wandering through the woods  
in the middle of the night!"

"You obviously thought they could make it. I'm certainly not going to  
release you just so they have adult supervision, in any case." Garak  
turned back to the eldest boy. "Can you find your way home?" he  
repeated.

"Yes..." he said reluctantly. "But what about Anwen?"

"Just go, Keeva!" she called from the shack.

"You heard her, go!" Garak ordered, pointing their way to freedom.  
"And don't let me see you again! I won't release you a third time."

The boy quickly nodded and herded the children out of the gate. As  
soon as they were clear, Garak locked it again, then sat and waited  
until he was sure the boy and the other children were well away. He  
turned toward the woman and assessed her critically.

"I guess I must be your type after all," she sneered.

"Hardly," Garak said. "I just have to decide how long I should wait  
before I comm the other guards and tell them I caught their escapees'  
ringleader."

"You turn me in and I'll tell them that you let the children go!" Anwen warned.

"You do that and they'll know which direction they should start looking in."

She paused and appeared to think about that for a moment.

"Are you completely dim or do you just have no concept of logic?"  
Garak asked, amused by the young woman's frustration.

She blushed. "Why did you let them go anyway?"

"Not every Cardassian thinks molesting children, even Bajoran  
children, is an acceptable practice," he answered.

"But you don't stop him. That's the same as doing it yourself!" she insisted.

"I did stop him," Garak returned. "Twice. You're the one who nearly  
got them caught a third time because you didn't use your head."

She bit her lip hard, but said nothing.

Garak looked at her again. After a moment he reached out and unlocked  
her from the wall.

"What are you doing? Don't touch me!" she screeched.

"You truly have an overblown ego, my dear. Skinny, sharp-tongued  
harridans with a need to play the hero at the expense of other  
innocent lives do not appeal to me in the slightest," Garak retorted  
before undoing the cuffs. "Now get out of here."

"You're letting me go?" She rubbed her wrists and looked at him as  
though he were insane.

"If you're the best example of Bajoran terrorist this backwater has,  
we'd be better off letting you go," Garak snorted.

She looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it and  
hurried toward the fence. "Are you going to open the damned thing or  
what?" she snapped.

Garak hit the button and she slipped out. Before she was completely  
out of sight, Garak called out, "Wait!"

She paused and looked at him.

"What's your name?"

"Anwen. Nara Anwen," she said, then disappeared into the shadows.

Garak didn't know why he had asked her name. Nor did he know why it  
had mattered so much that she had answered him.

All he knew was that he wouldn't be forgetting it anytime soon.

******

"Hello, Garak. Sorry to summon you here after your shift. I know you  
must be tired," Koril said lazily as he sipped his morning tea.

"Not at all, Gul Koril; in fact, it was a pleasant experience guarding  
the rocks and scrub rats," Garak drawled, obviously unintimidated.  
"Far less strenuous, in fact, than the job I was actually sent here to  
do."

Koril snorted rudely. "You're an ass, Garak, but you're a quick wit,  
I'll grant you that. I've summoned you here because I have a job for  
you."

"Which is?"

"There was a prison break last night and several Bajorans of interest  
escaped prior to questioning. I also have information that a group of  
Bajoran terrorists the prisoners were connected to are planning to  
move their camp tonight. I want you to lead a group of men and take  
out the entire convoy."

"Oh?" Garak asked. "I would have thought the infantry would be better  
suited to that sort of thing."

"Why ask a low-blooded foot soldier to take the glory of the kill when  
I have a noble-blooded Obsidian Agent at my disposal?" Koril asked,  
picking at his plate of fruit. "Breakfast?"

"I don't have much of an appetite for Bajoran food," Garak replied.

"Oh, then you're missing something," Koril said with a slow smile. "A  
remarkable people, very...soft. And sweet, like the fruit on their  
trees." He took a bite of the orange-colored ganka berry and smiled  
perversely. "Do you like it sweet, Garak, or do you prefer a bit of  
spice to your meat?"

Garak felt his stomach turn. The man was actually trying to seduce  
him. "Will that be all?"

"I was looking over the records of the Great Houses and I found  
yours," Koril said, continuing as though he hadn't noticed Garak's  
obvious refusal. "The House of Garak is affiliated with the House of  
Tain, is it not?"

"It is," Garak answered tersely.

"Funny what our names translate to in the old language." Koril laughed  
a bit in emphasis. "Koril is king in Hebetian and Garak means...from  
the left, does it not?"

"Your point?" he asked.

"No point, I just thought it was funny that my house was descended  
from kings while yours were among the favored bastards of the Tain  
Dynasty." He smiled. "Who knows, we may be cousins."

"I doubt it," Garak said off-handedly. "Tain and I were born into our  
houses whereas your great-great-grandfather bought his name, did he  
not? He was a - what was it again? Oh yes, an offal merchant. He dealt  
in fertilizer and such."

"I wouldn't know," Koril said, his voice possessing a brittle edge. It  
was obvious he was no longer enjoying the game he had started.

"Oh well, I suppose I can always ask your brother, Delam, about it  
when I next see him. He and I were at University together." He gave  
Koril a look of exaggerated confusion. "I don't however recall seeing  
you there. I assume you must have been privately educated. Tutors."

"I was, yes," Koril said, whipping the napkin off the front of his  
shirt and throwing it on the table before him in a gesture of  
agitation.

"Delam's a bit younger than you, yes?" He didn't wait for an answer.  
"I can understand why you chose to refuse the Council seat in favour  
of taking a posting on Bajor, though. Especially since it's so obvious  
how much you enjoy this place and its," he reached out and  
straightened the large bowl of fruit slightly, "assets."

"I'm afraid I don't have a whole lot of time for idle chit-chat,  
Garak. Dismissed," he said curtly.

"Until later then," Garak said with an enigmatic smile as he slowly  
exited Koril's private dining hall.

******

"I don't like this, Elim," Emar said in a low voice. "He's setting you  
up for something."

"Of course he is," Garak said off-handedly. "But the man is a total  
idiot. It's obvious he's sent us out on a wild goose chase in the  
middle of the night, then the day after we leave he'll have his men  
'capture' the wild party of rampaging terrorists just so he can gloat  
that his men caught the same terrorists an Agent of the State couldn't  
find even while standing in front of their convoy. I'm not worried  
about it. He thinks this will reflect badly on me but what he doesn't  
know is that he's already a dead man. He probably won't even live long  
enough to file that report."

"You poisoned him?" Emar whispered in shock.

"Of course not," Garak snorted. "He's poisoned himself. Damned fool  
eats those ganka berries, seeds and all, like he's a boar rooting  
through a trough. He thinks they're going to help his stamina, but  
instead of keeping his prick hard, they're causing heavy metal  
poisoning to build up in his system. Every sane person knows to boil  
the things three times in fresh salt water before eating them. He eats  
them raw thinking it will increase the effects! Moron." He arched an  
eyeridge in amusement. "His ridges are turning as black as coal and  
his fingertips are scaling. He probably thinks he's caught a social  
disease or something and doesn't bother with the antibiotics because  
he thinks it emphasizes the contours of his neck better."

"Really? I just thought he didn't bathe," Emar said. "Why didn't his  
personal physician tell him?"

"Would you?" Garak asked with a slight grin.

"Now that I think about it, no." Emar cleared his throat. "So we go and-"

"You're staying here."

"Since when?" Emar asked.

"I can't be hurt by anything Koril does, but if you are besmirched,  
even by an odious piece of trash like Koril, it will reflect badly in  
your records," Garak said firmly.

"I thought you said you were going to marry me and be my breadwinner  
while I write the days away?" Emar joked as he skipped ahead. "I don't  
need a perfect military record just to write some plays and short  
stories."

"And you refused, remember?"

"I may change my mind. Besides, if I'm just going to stand around  
doing nothing all night, I'd rather be doing nothing with you."

"I'm trying to decide whether or not to find that flattering," Garak  
said dryly as he followed his lover to the transport.

******

"I'm beginning to believe your theory about Koril is correct."

"Which theory? That he's an insane, vulgar pedophile or that he's sent  
us on a wild targ chase in the middle of nowhere?"

Emar snorted and scanned the horizon with his binoculars. "Both. Where  
are the other two soldiers he sent along?"

"They're down the mountain." Garak said, his eyes sweeping over the  
pass. He paused, "I'm detecting some movement."

He lifted his own binoculars and adjusted the frame until he could  
clearly see the ragtag group of Bajorans making their way through the  
valley with the night vision. "Damn."

"What?" Emar said, picking up his own instrument and turning his head  
toward the south end of the pass. "Well, what do you know? For once  
Koril's intelligence wasn't completely-"

"No, Emar," Garak said. "Look closer. Those aren't rebels."

Emar gave him a confused look then picked up his binoculars again,  
magnifying the image. "It looks like...a bunch of females  
leading....children." He focused in even tighter. "Shit. It's a  
caravan of Bajoran children and hybrids."

"Apparently, I have underestimated our dear Gul Koril," Garak said,  
his voice tight. "He's testing me, and I have a feeling those two  
soldiers he sent along aren't just for backup."

"This is about those children you released the other day from the  
prison," Emar said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, but it's also about me releasing them a second time." Garak's  
voice was faint as he tried to formulate a plan.

"Wait a minute, what-" Emar's eyes widened. "Elim! You idiot! You were  
the one who arranged that prison break the other night!"

"Keep your voice down, and no. I did not break anyone out of prison."

"Well, thank the-"

"I released them after they broke out."

Emar's ran his hand over his face and looked at the older man angrily.  
"What in cold hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't," Garak grimly admitted.

"You picked a fine time to have a mid-life crisis," Emar said, his  
face hard as he stared down the valley. He picked up his binoculars  
and scanned the other side of the pass. "Koril's men have a bead on  
us. They aren't even bothering to target the convoy." He put down the  
instrument and looked at him, "If we don't take either those children  
or those soldiers out, we're dead men. Koril's doing more than testing  
you, he's ordered them to kill you."

"I should have just killed him weeks ago and gotten it over with,"  
Garak muttered.

"We have a few minutes before they're in range," Emar said, then  
pointed to the adjacent cliff face. "A few phaser blasts to that  
section of rock there will cause an avalanche. It'll be quick and take  
them all out at once."

Garak raised his glasses again and looked down at the convoy. He  
sighted in tight and examined the group carefully. As he watched, a  
young woman carrying a phaser rifle jogged ahead of the group and  
scanned the top of the cliffs. "I know her. She's the woman who broke  
those children out the other night."

Emar didn't even bother to look. "We have to do this, Elim."

A muscle in Garak's jaw tightened as he considered his options. "I am  
not, by any stretch of the imagination, a good man. I have killed  
dozens of men and women, I have tortured them, I have ruined their  
reputations, and I have done all of that because it is what I was  
ordered to do." He pinned the younger Cardassian with a hard gaze.  
"But there are rules I follow, Emar. Without them, a person would be  
reduced to nothing but an out-of-control killing machine. When I kill,  
it's for the good of the state. It serves a greater interest. When I  
take a man's life, reputation, or destroy him utterly, I do so with a  
clean conscience because I know he or she would do the same to me. I  
have never killed anyone who didn't deserve it or who had lived a life  
in which torture and assassination were not known. I do not kill just  
to kill and I will not crush to death dozens of women and children  
because some insane cretin like Maros Koril thinks it's a game. Even I  
have standards."

"Your 'standards' don't mean a whole hell of a lot if you have a  
phaser rifle pointed to your head," Emar pointed out. "This isn't the  
time for philosophical debate, Elim. We have to do this."

Elim's eyes were cold. "Or we could just take out the two soldiers and  
then kill Koril. It would serve the state far more to have him dead  
than a filthy group of peasants. At least they can work the mines."

"Garak," Emar said in a softer tone, "there are Cardassian/Bajoran  
hybrids in that group. I don't disagree with you that Koril needs to  
be taken care of, but those 'children' are an abomination. There are  
laws against them even existing. Even if you could justify to a  
Cardassian oversight committee your choice to disobey a direct order  
and not kill a group of women and children, it is your duty to  
exterminate those hybrids on sight. You know that."

"It's not my job. It was the job of the Cardassians who fathered them  
to see to it their comfort women and whores were sterilized, not mine.  
I won't do this," Garak said, sitting back behind the rock and resting  
his forearm casually over his knee.

"That choice isn't yours to make," Emar said through gritted teeth.

"Fine, you kill them and then kill me. It's your duty," Garak said  
wearily as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "You'll  
probably get a medal for it."

"This isn't a joke!"

"I'm not joking," Garak said without opening his eyes.

"You don't even know those people!"

"Emar..." Garak opened his eyes and looked up into his lover's face.  
"You are still so young. For you, serving the state is a grand  
adventure and everything is clear. It's either right or wrong, black  
or white. I have lived for 43 years in a perpetual shade of gray. I  
see things differently than you do and someday you might understand  
what I'm talking about, but for now you should do what you feel is  
right. Follow your orders and fire your weapon. I won't stop you and  
if you choose to turn it against me, I won't fight back, but there are  
some things even I won't be responsible for."

"Damn you, Elim..." Emar said flatly. He turned and aimed his weapon  
then fired twice. For a minute nothing happened.

"Did you miss?" Garak asked.

A phaser blast blazed past them and shattered some rock near Emar's head. "Yes!"

Garak looked up in confusion, then grabbed his weapon and looked over  
the rocks. The two soldiers across the valley were firing at them.  
"You shot at Koril's soldiers?"

"Yes, damn you! Did you honestly expect me to murder you, you stubborn  
ass?!?" Emar shouted as he began firing again. "Now pick up your  
damned weapon and help me!"

Garak grabbed his rifle and got a bead on one of Koril's men, taking  
him out cleanly. "One down, one to go."

The armed women escorting the caravan of war orphans began discharging  
their weapons as well, shouting for the children to scatter. Emar and  
Garak continued to fire as the soldier hid behind the boulders, their  
blasts making showers of rock fall into the valley below.

"You so owe me for this," Emar muttered darkly as he continued to  
fire. "I expect payback, Elim! As soon as we get out of this we're  
going back for Koril and getting off this damn planet! If I never hear  
the word 'Bajor' again it will be too soon!"

"Lots and lots of payback, my dear, I promise," Garak said as he fired  
again. "I have enough contacts and money stored away that we can spend  
the rest of our lives somewhere warm with lots of good kanaar and a  
soft bed."

Emar grinned and glanced over at Garak. "You don't say? If you had  
just told me that before, I would have defected months - urk."

Emar looked up at Garak, his face slack with shock as he examined the  
small, perfectly round smoldering hole in the center of his chest. He  
opened his mouth to say something but no words came, just a hiss of  
air as his lungs collapsed. He was dead before Garak even caught him.

"Emar? Emar!" Garak said, dropping his weapon and holding his body  
tightly. "No. No. Not like this."

He held him to his chest, the tears splattering against the young  
man's ashen face as Garak stroked his cheeks lightly. He did this. He  
killed him. All he had to do was fire his weapon. Why didn't he just  
do it and get it over with? Why?

He didn't know how long he had held Emar's body, but it was long  
enough apparently for the other soldier to make his way to their  
position. He heard the man approached and didn't even bother to reach  
for his discarded weapon. He merely held on to Emar and waited for the  
end to come.

"Traitor!" the Cardassian spat. "You would kill your own kind to save  
a handful of Bajoran brats and whores? Death is almost too good for  
you."

A phaser rifle fired. Garak heard the sizzle of ozone as the weapon  
discharged, then a dull thud as a body hit the ground. He opened his  
eyes and stared at the body of the soldier lying on the ground, his  
eyes open and sightless. Behind him was Nara Anwen.

Another woman came running up, her weapon pointed to Garak but the  
young woman stopped her. "No, Luscon! I know him."

"This is the Cardie who you said helped you escape?" the older woman  
asked without lowering her rifle.

"That's him," Anwen said, looking at down at Garak still holding his  
fallen lover. "He's coming with us." Luscon began to argue but Anwen  
stopped her. "Trust me, he needs to come with us."

Dark eyes met blue and Garak could see the sympathy she felt for him  
reflected there. "We can trust him," Anwen said.

******


	8. By Homecoming's Light

Chapter Eight: By Homecoming's Light

******

No one approaching the Temple would have noticed anything odd about  
the Vedek's expression as she and the gray-haired gentleman  
accompanying her quickly headed for the airlocks. They might have just  
assumed she was late for an appointment.

Vedek Merel Atina was legendary for the frenetic pace she kept and her  
many contributions to women and children's issues on Bajor. Not a day  
passed when she wasn't giving a speech or blessing a children's home.  
They might have noticed the air of dark rage etched on the face of the  
station's commander, however.

As he exited the Temple, he did not look like a man who had found  
peace and enlightenment. He looked like a man possessed by the Furies.

He headed toward the Promenade, his stride long and definite. No one  
who passed him bothered to say 'Good morning' since it obviously  
wasn't. A few whispered about the upcoming inspection and Admiral  
Gilhouly's famous demanding nature, assuming that was the cause.

They all simply continued on their way as Sisko leaned against the  
railing of the walkway that arched high above the Promenade. He often  
went there to relax and think. He must have a lot on his mind,  
passersby assumed, given his upcoming visitors from the Federation and  
the current political situation affecting the region.

So when they saw him staring down at his CMO playing with his  
soon-to-be adopted children and watching as the doctor's mother  
spoiled her grandchildren with cakes and treats, they assumed he was  
just trying to distract himself with thoughts of happier times.

They'd be wrong.

As he looked down at the four of them, he saw only one thing.

The traitor.

The destroyer.

The Founder.

And three innocents whose very lives were in jeopardy.

But he couldn't move now. He needed to know what the Founder was  
planning, and he needed to devise a plan to smoke him out. But to do  
that he needed the help of his two most important tactical assets:  
Worf and Garak.

And he needed the Defiant.

His gaze wandered over to the airlock through which Merel and Owin had  
stepped. Merel was traveling to Bajor to give Worf and Garak his  
orders and to bring Bashir back.

He supposed he couldn't blame Garak for not seeing it: from what Owin  
had said, Garak's relationship with the Founder dated back to almost  
immediately after he had replaced Bashir. Unlike himself and his other  
colleagues, Garak might not have had the chance to spend time with  
Bashir on a daily basis before the switch, so any small changes might  
have eluded him.

The changes shouldn't have eluded Sisko, though. He pondered the fact  
that although he had thought he knew all of his team well, somehow  
through this he had come to realize just how the doctor, who had  
always seemed so open before now, was actually something of a mystery  
to them all. Maybe that's why the Founder replaced him, he thought.

That was his fault. He snorted faintly: and he had always thought of  
Garak as the enigmatic one. In truth, he knew more about Garak than he  
did about his own CMO. In fact, he had gotten to know this - thing  
wearing Bashir's face far better than he had ever known the real  
Bashir in five years of working closely with him. Maybe he simply  
wasn't as observant as he thought he was, or maybe Bashir was better  
at hiding himself than Sisko had realized. He wondered why the man  
even bothered.

One of the children suddenly laughed out loud. The children, he  
thought: he couldn't move against the Founder until they were safe,  
but on the other hand he had to put the station's safety first. And  
there was Bashir's mother as well. How she would take learning that  
her son had been replaced, that she had spent the last day with a  
Founder...

Enough lag-assing around, he thought, as he made his way to Ops. Time  
to formulate a plan.

******

Bashir looked up from the table as a Bajoran woman about seventy years  
of age entered the room followed by a tall man wearing ranjen's robes.  
"Vedek Merel," Garak said, rising to his feet and extending his hands.

"Mr. Garak," she replied as Bashir and Worf stood, giving him a huge  
smile as she clasped his hands in hers in a form of handshake Bashir  
hadn't seen before. "It's good to see that you've recovered. Owin was  
saying you looked exhausted last night when he spoke with you."

He returned her smile. "Thank you, and yes, I did take the opportunity  
to rest. May I introduce Lieutenant-Commander Worf, my superior  
officer, and this," he said, gesturing to the doctor, "is the real  
Julian Bashir. Commander, Doctor, may I introduce Vedek Merel Atina of  
the Capital Temple and her ranjen, Owin Grea."

She gave Bashir a look as they took their seats; he could see  
confusion in her eyes, and perhaps just a little disappointment.  
"Doctor, Owin tells me that you have been in the Gamma Quadrant for  
some time?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. "I've been in a Dominion prison for just  
over three months, and I'm not the only one. You might see General  
Martok out by the shore today; he was going to see if he could catch a  
few fish for his dinner."

"I doubt I'll be here for long," she replied. "We've returned to give  
the three of you a message from Captain Sisko."

As she discussed Sisko's orders with Worf and Garak, Owin breaking in  
from time to time with comments, Julian couldn't help but notice how  
well Garak seemed to be regarded by the three of them. Merel genuinely  
respected him, and Worf seemed to value his input. Funny, he thought:  
Garak had somehow managed to forge more trusting relationships in the  
last three months than he had over the past five years. Sisko appeared  
to depend on him, Worf clearly respected him, and Merel and Owin  
seemed to genuinely like him. The Founder had been the one to bring  
Garak into the inner circle of Deep Space Nine and had even gained him  
friends among the most prominent members of Bajoran society, but what  
was most ironic was that Garak hadn't really changed at all. It wasn't  
that he had become more Human or Bajoran or Klingon: it was that the  
Humans, Bajorans, and Klingons had begun to accept him and him them.

He wondered if the Founder had realized this.

And Worf: here was Worf, a man who to his knowledge had never before  
spoken ten words to Garak, agreeing with everything he said and  
working with him as smoothly as though they had been partners for  
years. They were finishing each other's trains of thought,  
anticipating each move like they were of the same mind.

He returned his attention to the conversation.

"We can use the strategy the resistance employed when we would  
redirect food shipments to the camps," Merel was saying. "Bait and  
switch."

"I'm familiar with that particular maneuver," Garak said dryly.  
"Commander Worf and I had actually come up with the same plan before  
you arrived."

"Well, if anyone would be familiar with it, it would be you, wouldn't  
it?" Merel said with a private smile.

"So we will transport the doctor onto the Vedek's runabout," Worf  
said, "then erase our logs before we arrive at the station. As soon as  
we dock and the Founder is waiting at the airlock the Vedek will  
transport him to the captain's quarters."

"Exactly," Owin said. "This way we know where the Founder is while we  
transport."

"And the Founder is unlikely to go to the Captain's quarters," Garak mused.

"I know the Captain checks his cabin for devices regularly," Worf  
said, "but I'm unsure as to the last time he did it."

"He intended on completing a sweep right after we left," Merel said.

"Tell the captain to have Ajaz bring up a sewing box I left in his  
keeping before we left the station," Garak said. "Comm him and say  
that you were supposed to pick it up before you left but in your haste  
you forgot it. Ajaz knows to do as the Captain asks. Inside is an  
instrument that looks like a tailor's sizer. It's a device used by the  
Order to detect biological as well as mechanical listening devices. In  
case he is monitored, using that device will be far less conspicuous  
than using a tricorder or other obvious piece of Starfleet equipment."

Bashir looked at him. Why would Ajaz have Garak's sewing box?

Worf frowned at the Cardassian. "You did not inform me that you  
possessed such a device."

"Mr. Worf," he said, his eyes merry, "surely you realize the  
importance of a back-up plan?"

"The credo of one of the Resistance's greatest folk heroes, if I  
recall correctly," Merel said with twinkling eyes.

Garak's eyes flickered; Bashir thought he saw a glint of disapproval,  
but Worf seemed unfazed.

Owin Grea spoke. "Mr. Garak, I should advise you that there  
are...visitors on the station from Bajor."

The Cardassian's face suddenly froze as he and Worf shared a  
meaningful look. Garak jumped up. "We have to go now," he said,  
heading towards the door.

"We cannot rush into this!" Worf insisted.

Garak stopped at the door. "He'll finish debriefing us when we get  
there." He turned to Merel. "Take Bashir up with you now; that way we  
don't have to bother with the transporter logs because we don't have  
the time. Let's go, Mr. Worf!"

Bashir stared at his departing figure as Worf followed him out the  
door and towards the Defiant. "I wonder what that was all about," he  
murmured under his breath.

"He didn't inform you?" Merel asked in surprise.

"Inform me of what?"

Owin threw his Vedek a meaningful look and she said reluctantly, "It  
isn't our place to say, doctor."

"But-" he started, but the vedek and her ranjen had risen to their feet.

"We'd best be going," Owin said, escorting the Vedek to their small runabout.

Bashir glared at their backs, then followed, wondering what they were  
hiding from him.

******

"So what do you have planned for tonight?" Dax asked Kira from her station.

She sighed. "To be honest, I was thinking of going through some of  
those redecorating padds you lent me. Sometimes you just need a  
change, and given the past month or so I think I need one."

Sisko shook his head silently behind them. If Kira only knew what had  
really been going on...

He leaned against the far wall of Ops and thought about how he was  
going to break the news of Bashir's replacement once this was all  
over. There was no question that he had to: not only did the switch  
highlight the danger they were in from the Dominion and the lengths  
the Founders would go to infiltrate Starfleet, it also showed that  
mature shapeshifters were able to mimic solids to an extent Federation  
scientists hadn't before realized. It also wouldn't be fair to either  
Bashir or Garak to allow the senior staff to believe they really were  
in a relationship.

He thought back to Garak's words before he and Worf had left: Julian,  
whom they now knew was a Founder, was able to create semen and sweat.  
The first wasn't that surprising; Founders had to reproduce somehow,  
and if they reproduced sexually they'd need to produce some kind of  
fertilizing fluid. But sweat...thinking back, he realized that he'd  
seen the imposter eating and drinking on numerous occasions. Could  
Founders somehow synthesize sweat and other bodily fluids from the  
foods they ingested? Did they have some way of storing food and liquid  
until they could discharge them in some way? Blood was trickier,  
Bashir - the real Bashir - had once mentioned. It contained not just  
numerous types of cells but also chemical compounds that weren't easy  
to reproduce and which would degrade within minutes of being removed  
from a live body. But they'd gotten into the practice of simply  
cutting themselves, as he, Worf, and Garak had done yesterday  
afternoon. That clearly was no longer a valid method, especially since  
there were a million ways to make liquid look like blood to the casual  
eye. He decided that in the future, all blood samples, even those  
taken casually, would be tested by at least two individuals from  
different departments. That should reduce the risk of such a thing  
happening again. Maybe. Perhaps.

He returned to the conversation between his officers.

"22nd century Vulcan," Dax was saying.

Kira snorted a laugh. "Good grief. Why don't you avoid the middleman  
and get Julian to give you a hypo of sedative instead?"

Dax crossed her arms. "Nerys..."

"It's just that-" and she looked down as a light flashed on her panel.  
"I've got an incoming message from the Defiant," she said after a  
moment, giving Sisko a puzzled look. "I thought they weren't supposed  
to be back for a few days."

He shrugged. "What does it say?"

"They've been attacked by - by pirates," she replied, one eyebrow  
rising. "In the Valara sector."

"Probably Orions in that sector," Dax said with a frown. "Are they all right?"

"Looks like it; let me check." She sent a message and waited. "They're  
fine," she said once the Defiant's reply had arrived, "but they've  
taken some damage to the warp nacelles. They're limping back at warp  
two. Garak says they'll be back in about thirty minutes. I'll dock  
them at Upper Pylon three."

"Dax," Sisko said, "if you want to meet the ship when it docks..." He  
hoped she'd take the bait: he needed a witness, and if anything  
happened he knew he could count on her cool head and astute judgment.

She looked up at him. "If you don't mind..."

"Not at all," he said, shaking his head. "You've only got 20 minutes  
left in your shift anyway. I'll have Vasquez cover until the Beta  
officer arrives."

"I guess that means you'll be missing the poetry reading?" Kira said  
with a grin.

"I guess so," Dax replied. "See you tomorrow."

As she left, Sisko hit his comm badge. "Sisko to Bashir."

Fifteen seconds later the imposter replied. "Bashir here." Sisko could  
hear the laughter of a small child in the background.

"Doctor," he replied, "you'll be pleased to learn that the Defiant is  
returning early. They ran into some trouble in the Valara sector-"

"Is Garak all right?" the voice interrupted.

He was damned good, Sisko thought; he even sounded as if he were  
really worried. "They're fine," he said. "They'll be returning in  
about half an hour. I thought you and your mother and the children  
might want to meet him at the airlock. They'll be docking at Upper  
Pylon three."

"Thank you, Captain." The Founder's voice was followed by a faint  
whisper. "And my mother says thank you as well."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Bashir," he said, smiling sadly. He was glad she  
was here; Bashir could probably benefit from the love of a family  
member after what he'd gone through. "Sisko out."

Kira grinned. "Did you see the four of them this morning on the main  
level?" she asked. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think Julian  
has it in him to be a really good father to those kids."

He nodded silently, cursing the Founder for the pain he was about to  
cause the children. He only hoped that would be the worst of it.

******

Worf turned to Garak as he reached for the airlock controls. "Are you  
sure you can do this? Tell me now if you cannot and I will prepare my  
weapon. We can strike cleanly as soon as we see its face."

"I can do this," Garak said, his voice grim. "Open it."

"Very well," Worf said and they entered the station.

"Garak!"

Garak pasted a wide smile on his face as he saw Julian's eyes light up with joy.

"Figures that only you could leave on a simple mission and run into-mmph!"

Garak pulled the Founder toward him and kissed him passionately,  
feeling the lips soften beneath his own as the creature he held gasped  
and wrapped its long, lightly muscled arms around his neck.

It felt...right, Garak thought, his heart sinking in his chest. He  
deepened the kiss and forced himself to play the game. "I missed you,"  
he murmured against the imposter's lips.

"I can tell," Julian breathed.

"Elim!"

Garak bent down and scooped up Kela as she ran toward him, her long  
brown hair decorated with pale ribbons streaming behind her. "Well,  
hello there! When did you get here?"

"Me and Lewin came last night and spent the night with Nani and Dr.  
Julian!" Kela said, burrowing her little face in his neck.

He looked up to see Lewin standing shyly at a distance. "Are you not  
going to greet me as well?" Garak asked, opening his other arm to the  
boy.

Lewin broke out into a wide grin and launched himself at Garak. He  
held both children tight and breathed in their sweet smell. Just keep  
them safe, Garak, he told himself. Their lives depend on what happens  
within the next few hours.

"Nani?" Garak asked at last, looking up to see Julian staring down at  
them with a warm smile.

"Hello, Garak."

He turned to see Amsha smiling at them, her soft pink pantsuit glowing  
warmly against her dark skin. "Amsha!" He released the children and  
rose to meet her.

"Now, now," Amsha said, stepping forward to greet him. "It's 'mother',  
remember?"

"Of course." Garak hugged her and said, "It's so good to finally meet  
you in person."

"I think we need a picture!" Amsha said brightly as she reached into  
her bag and pulled out a holocamera. She looked over to Jadzia who had  
been greeting Worf and looking at their own homecoming with amusement.  
"Jadzia, dear. Would you take a picture of us? I want to bring it home  
to show Richard."

"Sure!" Jadzia said walking over to take the camera. She stopped and  
said, "Oh, and Amsha, this is Worf, by the way."

"Worf! Of course, you're Jadzia's par-parma-" She frowned, trying to  
think of the right pronunciation.

"Par'machkai," Worf supplied, nodding in greeting. His dark, hooded  
eyes looked over Amsha Bashir coolly, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Oh well, I was never good at pronouncing Klingon!" Amsha laughed.  
"Jules tried to get me to drink some of that raktajino this morning  
and I've had the jitters ever since. And I thought espresso was loaded  
with caffeine."

"Here," Jadzia said, taking the camera. "All right, everyone stand in  
the picture! Worf? Do you want to-"

"No," Worf said, his voice low and very distant. "I think it would be  
best that only the doctor and his family be in this picture."

"Okay," Jadzia said brightly. "Get ready and say, 'homecoming'!"

"Homecoming!" the children yelled.

Garak held Kela on his hip, his right hand resting lightly on Lewin's  
shoulder. Julian stood beside them and Garak felt the warmth of his  
hand on the small of his back as Jadzia snapped the picture. Amsha had  
her hand around her son's waist, smiling up at his handsome face.

It was the perfect image of happiness.

Garak felt as though he were going to be ill.

"That was great!" Jadzia said. "How about another?"

"Jadzia..." Worf said, getting her attention. "The captain needs to  
debrief us. Mr. Garak? If you would?"

"I'll come with you," Julian said, turning to his mother. "Could you  
watch the children for a while?"

"No, Julian," Garak said stopping him, "You should stay with your mother-"

"That's okay; we were just going to lunch and then I have to get back  
to the Infirmary anyway," Julian said with a smile. "Besides, I want  
to hear about your run in with that group of marauders."

"You really got attacked by space pirates?" Lewin asked, his lightly  
defined eye ridges going up in surprise.

"Perhaps you should remain with your family, Mr. Garak," Worf said  
smoothly. "I can debrief the captain alone. Report to the captain's  
office after your luncheon."

"Yes, sir," Garak said. "Thank you."

"Well, I have to be going," Jadzia said as she handed the camera back  
to Amsha, then bent down to say goodbye to the kids. "Lewin, Kela, it  
was a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure we'll all be seeing each other a  
lot more often."

As they said their goodbyes, Garak met Worf's eyes and nodded almost  
imperceptibly.

It was a complication, but not an unanticipated one. As long as he was  
with the children, however, he knew they would be safe.

******

"Doctor..."

Bashir ran the tricorder a second time over a fuming Sisko as they  
stood in the main room of his quarters. "Captain, if the Founder  
wanted to destabilize Bajor, killing or harming you would probably be  
his first choice. He could have concealed any number of small injuries  
during the procedure you underwent - when was it?"

"About two months ago," Sisko said, glaring at him. "You mean the  
Founder operated on me?"

"It appears so," he said. "I was taken during that burn conference I  
attended on Meezan Four. That was...three months, nineteen days ago."  
He studied the results of his scans. "Luckily, I'm not detecting any  
significant lesions or aneurysms. Any more subtle injury isn't going  
to cause you any short-term problems. If there is one, it can wait  
until I can get you under the neuroscanner in the Infirmary."

"I'm not sure if I'm the only one who needs to be in the Infirmary,"  
Sisko said, frowning at the Doctor's spare body. "How much weight have  
you lost anyway?"

"The Dominion isn't known for its cuisine, I'm afraid." He shut off  
the tricorder and dropped it on Sisko's dining room table. "Quite  
frankly, we're all lucky to be alive."

Sisko frowned at him. "Merel mentioned General Martok; there were  
other survivors?"

"Two others," he replied. "Both Romulans, a pilot and a  
crypto-analyst. They're still on Bajor with the General. There were  
also a number of Cardassians in the prison, but we left them behind;  
given their hostility towards Tain and the Federation, we were  
concerned they'd try to mutiny." Or at least I was, he added silently.

Sisko chuckled. "You know," he said, "your mother is going to be  
furious when she sees you. She'll probably take on the Dominion  
herself."

"My mother?" he asked.

"Merel didn't tell you?" The captain's brow wrinkled. "I might not  
have mentioned it to her. Your mother arrived on the station  
yesterday."

He gaped at Sisko. Why would she be here? "Is my father with her? Why  
didn't Worf or Garak say anything?"

"She came alone, and they didn't know; she arrived after they left."  
Sisko shrugged. "At any rate, she's a lovely woman; your father is a  
very lucky man. How long has she had that ship?"

"I'm not sure," he murmured, a bit confused. The last time he had  
spoken to her she didn't even have her pilot's license, but  
considering how long it had been...he snorted. His mother would  
probably be embarrassed as hell to hear a man other than Father call  
her lovely. It was just too strange.

Yes, he thought, as a sudden suspicion made him frown: 'too strange'  
was the right phrase. "Captain," he said, "my mother hasn't visited me  
in five years. What made her come here?"

"According to the Founder..." He gave Bashir a sharp look. "You do  
know that Mr. Garak and he were engaged to be married."

"Yes, I know that," Bashir said, feeling his cheeks grow hot.

"And you know they were planning on adopting two Bajoran orphans?"

He stared at Sisko, his jaw dropping to the floor, his mind reeling.  
"What?!" he cried. "What the - is that - I don't believe it! I don't  
fucking believe it!" He dropped into a chair, his legs suddenly jelly.

"Doctor-" Sisko started, but Bashir was too agitated to listen.

"The bloody - how much more of this am I supposed to take! Goddammit!  
I'm gone three months and he's turned my entire life-"

"Doctor Bashir!" Sisko shouted; he glared at the Captain, but simmered  
down. "I know this isn't what you expect," Sisko said, his voice firm,  
"but you had better wrap your mind around it and fast. I don't have  
time to hold your hand so you had better get with it!"

Bashir took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, sir." He pressed his  
lips together, willing himself to calm down but still...why would his  
mother be there? "You said that my mother was on the station. You  
don't have any security footage of her, do you?"

Sisko gave him a puzzled look. "I could go through Odo's records, but  
I think she's planning on meeting the Defiant in about ten minutes. I  
could bring up a live feed. Why?"

"I'm worried." He didn't say about what, but - there was definitely  
something wrong. Either the Founder had sweet-talked her, or-

"Let me see." Sisko went to the side closet, digging around until he  
found a small portable computer. "Constable Odo left this here when we  
were investigating Commander Eddington last year," he said. "It's tied  
directly into the security system, but it runs on a different port  
than my regular terminal so if anyone's monitoring my computer usage  
they won't discover it." He opened the device, propping the monitor  
open as he brought it back to the sofa, and switched it on. "Kira said  
the Defiant was docking at Upper Pylon three," he murmured as he  
scrolled through the list of cameras. "Here we go."

Bashir studied the video feed as it was displayed on the monitor. At  
the moment, all he could see was Dax waiting by the airlock, her hands  
clasped behind her back as she looked up at the chrono.

"Your mother said that your father was planning on running for  
office," Sisko said, apparently to pass the time.

"I'm sure she did," he murmured. His father's delusions of grandeur  
were hardly his main concern at the moment, but it was another piece  
of the puzzle that didn't quite fit. "What did she say he was doing  
for a living?"

"She said he was retired." Bashir could hear the confusion in Sisko's  
voice. "Was he-"

But Sisko stopped as the imposter came into focus. With him was his  
mother and two small children, one Bajoran, one apparently  
half-Cardassian. But - his mother was dressed in a pantsuit, a pink  
pantsuit with what looked like an off-white blouse. She suddenly put  
her hand on the Founder's shoulder, laughing at something he had said.

"Oh my God," Bashir breathed.

"Julian," Sisko began in a harsh voice, "get over it. I don't have time to-"

"No!" he cried, pointing at the screen. "That - whoever that is it's  
not my mother!"

Sisko's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"My mother's an Indian Muslim," he said, "and she's very traditional.  
She wouldn't be caught dead wearing Western clothing. I've never seen  
her wear anything but a sari or a salwar kameez. That-"

"Are you sure?" Sisko asked, looking at him closely. "She did say your  
father was running for office. Perhaps she thought a change of style-"

"Captain," he interrupted, "my father is no more likely to 'run for  
office' than Worf is to show up on the Promenade in a diaper and a  
baby bonnet."

Their eyes met: Sisko ran a hand over his head, then sighed. "My God.  
If there are two Founders on the station..."

"...how many more are there?" Bashir said, finishing his sentence.

A sudden movement on the screen caught his eye: he turned to see the  
outer airlock open and Garak and Worf emerge from the Defiant.

For a moment he thought the two of them were going to attack the  
imposter, but instead Garak grabbed the Founder and - kissed him.

What a bizarre sight, he thought: seeing himself kiss Elim Garak. And  
given the passion apparent in the kiss, it was no wonder Garak had  
been so upset to see him in the camp. He really loved the imposter. It  
wasn't lust or even friendship with benefits but true, honest love, at  
least on Garak's side. He kept his eyes on the screen even as his  
stomach flipped. Could Garak go through with whatever they were  
planning, he wondered, or would he take the Founder's side? Could he  
turn his back on the thing he loved?

Garak finally pulled away and knelt down in front of the little girl  
who had been standing with them, scooping her up in his arms, talking  
to her, making her giggle. The half-Cardassian boy was holding back,  
but Garak reached out for him as well. Bashir felt a tug at his heart  
as he watched Garak embrace the two orphans. He'd never realized that  
Garak even liked children, but from what he was seeing the man was  
devoted to these two.

Worf had been right: he wasn't the only victim here.

"Captain, I - I can't watch this," he said as he turned away.

Sisko nodded. "I understand. Listen," he said. "I'd like you to go  
over some of the security footage from when your mother arrived. She  
and the Founder had dinner last night at Quark's. Pull up the footage  
from last night and see if you notice anything else that might give us  
an idea of what we're dealing with."

"Yes, sir." Anything not to have to watch Garak interact with the  
Founder - or Founders. He shut down the live feed and began to search  
for the footage.

******

Garak could hardly touch his food. It tasted like sawdust in his  
mouth, but he chewed it and managed to keep it down anyway. The doctor  
had once spoken of his experiences in a mirror universe. It felt as  
though he had stumbled into something very similar.

Julian was...Julian. Familiar and charming, everything he knew him to  
be. The similarities between him and the real Bashir were  
extraordinary, but after spending days in the presence of the real  
doctor he could now see the minute differences that had eluded him  
before.

The Founder was too perfect, Garak thought, as he pretended to listen  
to Kela and Lewin tell Julian about how the riding hound was doing at  
the orphanage.

"And I named him Pika!" Kela said. "He likes it. When I call his name  
he comes right to me."

"He comes to it because she feeds him her leftover cake after supper,"  
Lewin said, rolling his eyes. "Pika is a stupid name. It's a girl's  
name!"

"Lewin, be nice to your sister," Garak chastised. "Tell me about how  
school is going."

Julian reached under the table and squeezed Garak's hand, smiling  
gently as Lewin complained about having to bring his math homework  
with him during his visit. This Julian, unlike the real one, moved  
with a fluid grace that Garak had once found intriguing, but he now  
cursed himself for not noticing before. Every movement was like a  
dance; there was no awkwardness to him at all. The real Bashir had a  
tendency to fidget after a while. The real doctor was often oblivious  
to anything that did not hold his attention, but this Julian seemed to  
notice everything. Physically they were a match, but the  
self-assurance Garak mistook for Bashir's emerging maturity was  
actually cool manipulation on the part of the Founder.

He squeezed the hand back and continued the conversation. He wanted to  
hate him, this thing that had destroyed his life so utterly. He wanted  
to be able to pick up his knife and drive it into his chest - not that  
it would do it any harm, but even if it could, he knew he couldn't do  
it.

Not yet.

His head throbbed. He took a breath and winced.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Julian said in concern.

"Headache." He cleared his throat. "I only had a few hours sleep. I'm  
a bit tired."

Julian looked at him in concern. "After we eat, I'll take you up to  
the Infirmary and give you a hypospray."

"It'll be fine," Garak said with a slight smile. "Amsha, you were  
talking about the comforters you bought for the children's rooms?"

"Oh yes! They're gorgeous! I found them in that little shop across the  
Promenade!" Amsha said brightly. "And I met that nice Mr. Ajaz this  
morning and picked up the children's clothes. Thank you so much for  
the coat you made me, by the way. How did you get my measurements?"

"Ajaz made it, actually, I just gave him the pattern. I guessed at  
your measurements from the pictures Julian showed me. I usually have a  
good eye for that sort of thing," Garak said with a weak smile. "I  
hope you liked the color?"

"It's gorgeous, and the lining is practically sinful!" Amsha gushed.  
"I ordered a dress made from that Vulcan silk as soon as I felt it."

"Ajaz is a very good tailor," Garak nodded. "Did he show you his lacework?"

"He made me a dress! A blue dress!" Kela said brightly. "I wanted to  
wear it today but Nani said it was for the wedding."

"Yeah, and I have a black suit with shiny lapels," Lewin said,  
drinking some of his milkshake noisily. "Dr. Julian says I'm going to  
carry the rings on a pillow as a part of the ceremony."

"And I get to throw flowers at everybody!" Kela announced. "I don't  
know why, but it sounds like fun."

"Speaking of new clothes," Julian said, fingering the pips on Garak's  
collar, "these are a little premature, don't you think?"

Garak caught his hand and kissed it lightly. "Sisko sent word that  
we're having an inspection in a few hours and that the station is in  
full drill. He told me to go ahead and show up in uniform and that  
he'd straighten things out with command. They're going to have the  
hearing in absentia."

"That's wonderful," Julian said, nodding in approval. "Maybe we can  
get the swearing-in ceremony and the commission hearing done all by  
this weekend."

"You still have to wait at least another month for the wedding. I  
still have to get your father here and he's dealing with that campaign  
nonsense," she huffed. "Honestly, Jules, I hope he loses. I was  
enjoying having him home for a change."

"It's a shame you all live so far away. We'll have to try to visit as  
often as we can," Garak said, ignoring the stabs of pain between his  
eyes.

"Actually, I was thinking about going down to Bajor and looking  
around." Amsha stroked the top of Lewin's dark head and smiled at the  
boy. "I'm going to look into renting a nice vacation house so when  
Grandpa and Nani come back we can all spend some time together, right,  
Lewin?"

"Yes, ma'am," Lewin said, practically glowing.

"My friends are going to be so jealous!" Kela said triumphantly. "I  
got a nani and a grandpa and TWO daddies now!"

"You certainly do!" Julian said in amusement.

Garak reached for his drink and took a long sip. Focus, he told  
himself. The children will get past this, but for now he just had to  
keep going with the deception.

He felt his hand shake and put down the glass, pasting on a big smile.  
"Have you seen the orphanage yet, Amsha?"

"No, but I'm dying to!" she said. "Jules tells me it's a wonderful place."

"It really is," Julian nodded. "Not at all what you'd expect-"

"Doctor, Mr. Garak."

They looked up to see Odo approaching their table.

"Odo!" He turned to his mother. "Mother, this is the Constable. Odo,  
this is my mother and these are Kela and Lewin, the two children Garak  
and I are in the process of adopting. Won't you join us?"

"Hello," Odo looked over the group politely but shook his head in  
refusal. "Thank you, but no. The captain wanted me to come by  
personally and tell you that the Admiral's ship will be docking within  
the next four hours. He's upgrading the drill so all non-essential  
personnel and visitors must evacuate. He wanted to let you know first  
so the children could say goodbye. Their social worker is waiting at  
the airlock."

"Oh no, and Garak just got here," Julian said, frowning.

"He said to tell you that as soon as the Admiral and his other ships  
leave, he'll be happy to grant you and Mr. Garak time off to visit  
with them," Odo replied.

"It's all right, Julian," Garak said. "I wasn't expecting to see them  
this week anyway, remember?" He turned to the children who were  
suddenly very quiet and obviously disappointed. "We'll come down this  
weekend and spend every minute together. Does that sound good?"

"Sure," Lewin said sadly. "Do we get to take the toys and clothes Nani  
bought with us?"

"Take what we have with us and I'll bring down the rest later," Amsha  
said, smiling gently. "I'll take my shuttle down and drop off the rest  
this afternoon."

"That would probably be for the best," Garak agreed. This was perfect.  
Sisko was an incredibly clever man. His idea of bringing in the three  
galaxy-class ships and holding a 'drill' to keep the station in a  
state of battle-readiness was a stroke of genius.

"But I don't want to go. I want to stay with Nani!" Kela complained,  
her expression sulky.

"Kela, Nani said she's coming with us. Besides, we have to feed Pika  
his dinner, remember?" Lewin said to his sister gently.

"Oh, yeah," Kela said, suddenly brightening. "And now I get to  
introduce Nani to him!"

"Well, that settles it!" Amsha said with a firm nod. "I've never met a  
real riding hound before and I think it's past time I did!"

"We'll say our goodbyes here," Julian said, getting up. He nodded to  
Odo gratefully. "Can you escort the children to the airlocks,  
Constable? That way I can go ahead and take care of Garak's headache  
before my lunch hour is over."

"I'm going to just run down to your quarters and gather a few things,"  
Amsha said. She bent down and kissed Garak on the cheek. "I look  
forward to spending a lot of time with you when this is over."

"Goodbye, Elim," Kela said, giving him a kiss as she hopped down off  
her chair. "When can we come live here forever?"

"I - I don't-"

"Soon, sweetheart," Julian said, putting a comforting hand on Garak's  
shoulder. "Very soon."

"Julian's right. It will be very soon. Before you know it," Garak  
nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat as he rose from his seat and  
picked up the girl. Lewin walked over and, without even being asked,  
wrapped his arms around him as well.

Tain, you bastard, Garak thought miserably, I know you're enjoying  
this wherever you are. But deep in his heart he knew he had earned  
this pain. He more than earned it for what he had done.

For what he had said to Anwen before she died.

This was merely justice. He only hoped the children didn't suffer for  
his mistakes.

"What? I don't rate a hug?" Julian asked, opening his arms.

He released Lewin and set down Kela so they could say their goodbyes  
to the Founder. It took all his self-control not to snatch them away  
from its arms. How this creature and Odo could be from the same stock  
he didn't know, Garak thought. He and Odo might not have always seen  
eye to eye, but the constable would never use the affections of a  
child in this way.

"I'll take them with me now," Odo said. "May I escort you as well, Mrs. Bashir?"

"No, but thank you, Constable. It was a pleasure meeting you; Julian  
speaks highly of you. I'm sure we'll be seeing one another again very  
soon," Amsha said, smiling at the changeling.

"This way then," Odo said, holding his hand out to Kela.

"When we get back we can go talk to your friend, Chief O'Brien, about  
helping us put together those models Nani bought me, right, Dr.  
Julian?" Lewin asked, reluctant to leave.

"Absolutely, and Kela can spend the whole day playing with Molly  
again, just like I promised," Julian said, releasing him and ruffling  
his hair.

Garak eyed the Founder as he played the role of doting parent. If he  
weren't the victim of his machinations he might even admire his  
ability to lie so convincingly.

"Go on now," Garak said. "We'll be seeing each other in just two or three days."

After they left, Julian turned to Garak, a come-hither look in his  
eyes that he knew all too well. "I still have twenty minutes left.  
Mother's in your quarters so we'll go to mine."

Garak felt flickers of heat in his belly and cursed himself for it.  
Damn him, Garak thought, and damn me. How can I still want this? With  
a sinking heart he realized that even if he didn't want it, the  
Founder would expect him to perform. If he didn't it might look  
suspicious. He just prayed the captain had sense enough not to allow  
the real Bashir to view any security footage of the two of them. He  
suspected that Sisko had probably activated the long-unused Cardassian  
surveillance equipment in the Founder's quarters as he had suggested  
through the vedek. When DS9 had been Terok Nor, every inch of the  
station was under scrutiny by either Dukat or the constable. Rather  
than uninstall them, the Federation had merely cut the feeds and left  
the equipment within the walls.

He had been hoping to use it to track the Founder's movements. He only  
hoped he could spare the doctor any further humiliation.

"My head is really killing me, love," Garak said faintly. "I don't  
know if I'll be worth your trouble today."

Julian looked at him in concern. "Come to my quarters anyway. I keep a  
medkit there. It will be less trouble than going to the Infirmary  
right now and we can take a short nap in my bed."

"Sounds good," Garak agreed, allowing himself to be led toward the turbolifts.

******

Garak entered Julian's quarters and was immediately pulled into a  
soft, passionate kiss.

"Have I told you how damned sexy you look in that uniform?" Julian  
asked huskily as he nibbled the ridges adorning the outer edges of  
Garak's ears.

"My love, please." Garak said, pulling back slightly. "I want to do  
this, but my head is really throbbing. I've just spent the last 36  
hours in the company of Worf and his damned prune juice cocktails and  
Klingon opera. Running into those marauders was actually the highlight  
of our trip."

"That does sound rough," Julian said wryly. "Get undressed and I'll  
prepare the hypospray."

"Why do I need to get undressed for a hypospray?" Garak asked warily.

"We're taking a nap, remember? These uniforms aren't exactly good for  
lounging in and you don't want to walk into Ops rumpled, do you?"  
Julian said shaking his head in amusement. "You act like I've never  
seen you naked before or something."

"I wasn't thinking. You're right," Garak said, going into the bedroom  
and stripping down quickly to his undershirt and briefs. He folded his  
uniform carefully and then sat on the bed.

"Here we are," Julian said as he entered the room. He placed the  
hypospray against the Cardassian's neck and paused. "What's this?" He  
lifted Garak's shirt and looked at the shiny healed cuts and abrasions  
that were still in the process of fading away. "What the hell happened  
to you out there? Worf didn't say anything about you being wounded!"

"It's all right, Julian..." Garak said, lowering his shirt.

"The hell it is!" Julian said angrily. "For god's sake, I'm the  
station's CMO! Whenever a member of this crew is wounded I'm supposed  
to receive an incident report and immediately do a follow-up  
examination. Why wasn't I informed?"

His mind raced. "When the Orions attacked," he said, keeping the tone  
of his voice smooth, "I was repairing the replicator. After the battle  
was over I found myself halfway across the bridge with chunks of  
debris sticking out of my shoulder blade and hot oil all over my  
chest. Worf was able to patch me up." He shrugged. "I didn't want to  
upset the children by going over it in front of them."

"You're still coming with me to the Infirmary after our nap. If it  
wasn't for this damned drill-" Julian tightened his lips angrily, then  
sighed. "Damn. The drill." He rubbed his hand over his hair in a  
familiar gesture of agitation and sat beside him on the bed. "I have  
to run a few errands before I can get to the Infirmary. The Chief has  
managed yet again to avoid his six-month physical until the last  
minute and if I don't get his paperwork signed and filed before the  
Admiral gets here it won't look good at all. Comm Sisko and explain  
what happened, then see Dr. Okuna and have him look you over. I'll see  
you as soon as I get back."

"Are you leaving now?" Garak asked. This could be it. It made sense;  
with the task force closing in, the Founder might choose to put  
whatever plan he has into operation sooner rather than later.

"Not right now," Julian said, caressing Garak's cheek then placing a  
soft kiss on his mouth. "Does your head feel better?"

"Some," Garak agreed, closing his eyes and melting into the kiss. It  
was wrong, he knew it, but it felt - he felt-

Garak reached for him and pulled him tight against him, feeling the  
heat of the other man's body as he was lowered down onto the bed.  
Julian ground on top of him and Garak could feel his erection stirring  
against his thigh.

Was this a lie, too? he thought. Did the Founder even feel anything  
when they did this? Did he laugh afterwards or shudder in disgust at  
the thought of sharing his body with him? Or was this real? Did the  
Founder really love him? If he did, what would that mean to him?

As if reading his mind, Julian said, "I love you. I missed you so much."

"Really?" Garak asked, rolling over and taking Julian with him then  
grinding their bodies together. He watched the Founder flush and moan  
in response. He nibbled its throat. "Do you really love me, Julian?"

"Yes..." the Founder breathed. " You have no idea how much you mean to me."

"How much?" Garak asked. "Tell me."

Julian hastily began to remove his uniform jacket, locking his lips  
with Garak's. Despite every instinct he had in him telling him that  
this was a mistake, Garak pulled at Julian's trousers and pushed them  
down, his hand wrapping around the other man's erection then pumped  
him firmly.

"Take off your clothes," Julian said against his mouth. "Fuck me."

"Do you like this, Julian?" Garak said, ignoring both the Founder's  
request and his own hard need. "Do you like it when I touch you?"

Julian moaned and arched into his hand. Garak pulled up the Founder's  
shirt and suckled his nipples, biting them gently and causing his  
lover to cry out. "Does this really feel good to you?"

"Damn you! Either fuck me or let me fuck you!" Julian said, digging  
his fingers into the mattress. "Don't tease me!"

"Am I a tease?" Garak asked, lowering his head and tasting the tip of  
the creature's cock. It tasted real, he thought as he lapped at the  
moisture gathering at the tip. So real...

"Oh god, yes..." Julian moaned as Garak took him into his mouth and sucked.

He felt the Founder's hands weave through his hair as he forced his  
head down. He swallowed as much of him as he could, holding the base  
of his shaft and squeezing in time with his strokes. He lifted his  
mouth off of him and nibbled the Founder's thighs, feeling the soft  
hair of his legs tickle his tongue.

Was this what the real Bashir was like in bed, Garak wondered, then  
immediately regretted it. Pain ripped through him and he felt his  
erection begin to flag. He took the Founder's cock into his mouth and  
sucked again, harder.

"Oh god!" Julian cried. "Oh love, I'm going to come, you have to stop!"

Garak lifted his head and spit on his hand, lubing up his fingers. He  
took the Founder's hardness into his mouth once again and with the  
other hand he reached between his lover's thighs and found his  
entrance. With little thought to being gentle he entered him and ran  
his finger over his prostate with a sharp, stabbing motion.

Julian screamed and held Garak's head as his seed flooded the  
Cardassian's throat. Even through that, Garak wondered how the Founder  
had managed it. How could his body mimic the responses needed to  
simulate orgasm?

How did this creature know how Julian Bashir made love?

Or did it? Was this a lie as well?

Julian fell against the pillow in a heap as Garak reached into the  
nightstand for a towel. He cleaned Julian up gently, his face still  
and emotionless.

Why he had done it he couldn't say. Perhaps it was out of some need to  
prove to himself that not everything he had felt for this man was a  
part of some manipulation, or maybe it was so that he could revenge  
himself. Perhaps by doing this some part of the Founder could feel as  
used as he felt.

Or maybe it was because he was still in love with him.

His face crumpled in pain and he felt his chest ache.

"Garak? Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Julian said, reaching for his face in alarm.

"I'm just tired," Garak said, trying to remain in control. "I'm so tired."

Julian nodded. "Do you want me to...?"

"I can't," he groaned, moving so he laid beside the other man. "I just  
can't get an erection right now. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it happens," Julian soothed, laying his head on his chest.  
"I understand." He glanced over at the chrono. "Damn. Damn, damn,  
damn!" He got up hastily and straightened his uniform. "I'm late! I'm  
so fucking late it isn't funny! I don't even have time to clean up!"  
He kissed Garak hastily on the mouth then headed for the door. "Rest  
here! I have to go to Ops for a few minutes anyway. I'll explain to  
Sisko that you have a bad headache and I'll tell him to give you at  
least an hour to nap. Doctor's orders!" He stopped at the bedroom  
door. "I'll be back then to wake you up. There's something I need to  
talk to you about anyway. Comm me if you need anything!" And then he  
was gone.

Garak waited until he was sure the other man had left and got up to  
retrieve his comm badge. "Garak to Sisko."

//Where are you?// Sisko's voice said quietly.

"Julian's - Dr. Bashir's quarters. He's coming your way now." He  
reminded himself to be very careful. There was no way of knowing how  
closely the Founder monitored the station's comm chatter. "I have a  
bad headache. The doctor's recommended that I rest until the hypo he  
gave me takes effect. He said he'd return in one hour to check on me,  
then I'll be available for debriefing."

//Understood.// Sisko said tightly. //Are you...all right?//

"I'll live," was all he said.

//I'll let you know when the doctor leaves so you can freshen up.  
After he's done with you, I need you to report to my office.  
Understood?//

"Understood. Garak out."

He considered following Julian's progress on the security feeds, but  
he didn't want to touch any of the terminals in the Founder's  
quarters. There was no way of knowing if he had them rigged. Sisko  
would comm him if Julian took too long in coming to his office and he  
knew he probably had either Worf or Bashir monitoring its progress  
already.

He crawled back into the bed and ordered the computer to dim the  
lights. He couldn't sleep but he needed time. Time to put all of this  
into some kind of perspective.

Garak rolled over and buried his head into the Founder's pillow,  
breathing in his scent, and allowed the pain to wash over him.

******


	9. Tzenketh

Chapter Nine: Tzenketh

******

As Garak felt sleep overtake him, an image came to his mind.

Anwen.

He kicked at the covers fitfully as the nightmare began to unfold.

******

Garak sat in the corner of the cave, feeling the gazes of the women  
boring into him. He didn't care. He didn't even care if they shot him  
at this point.

His career, his life, was over.

They had no choice but to leave Emar's body on the cliffs as he  
followed the small terrorist cell to their camp. They'd made him wear  
a blindfold for most of the journey; as soon as he got there, several  
members of the cell who had remained in the camp had wanted him killed  
immediately. Actually, they'd used the phrase "put down", as if he  
were an animal.

Anwen had fought for him, saying that on three separate occasions he  
had saved the children's lives and that he could be a valuable source  
of information. Jomat Luscon, the cell's leader, had finally agreed  
with her, but he couldn't help but wonder if the first time Anwen had  
to leave the camp one of her fellow terrorists wouldn't put a  
well-aimed phaser blast in his chest.

For the last two days he'd sat in the dark, waiting for one of them to  
sneak over and slash his throat while Anwen slept or retrieved food.

Damned Bajorans couldn't even be relied upon to do that.

"Here, eat," Anwen said, handing him a plate of some kind of grain  
porridge. "It's not much but it's all we have."

He didn't even glance at it. "Why am I here?"

"You'd rather we left you to one of Koril's firing squads?" she  
snorted, placing the bowl on the ground beside him.

Yes, he thought, but instead he said, "I'm a Cardassian, a soldier -  
you're a terrorist. I should be dead."

"Probably," she said, sitting beside him. "But you're also a valuable  
tool. Let's face it, you're nothing more than a walking corpse right  
now. You leave these caves and every Cardie with a rifle will have you  
in his crosshairs. If you want to live, you'll help us; if not, I  
don't even have to waste the time it would take to kill you. Word just  
got back that the prefect of Bajor just signed your death warrant  
personally." She smiled faintly. "You really know how to piss the  
right people off. I figure a man that can inspire that kind of hate  
from Dukat himself is worth keeping around."

"One does one's humble best," Garak said dryly as he picked up the  
bowl and spooned some of the thick, tasteless muck into his mouth. He  
screwed up his face in distaste. "If this is what passes for food  
around here, I'm surprised you all don't just turn yourselves in. They  
eat better than this in the prison camps."

"The soldiers might, but compared to what us poor Jories get, you're  
eating what would pass as a gourmet meal," she said, shoveling a big  
gob of it into her mouth. "Later you can help me catch some cave  
spiders for supper. They're a little gamy at first, but once you get  
used to sucking the juice out of the legs they're pretty good."

Garak felt the porridge rise in his throat and gagged. He sat down the  
bowl quickly and ran his hand over his mouth. "Tell me you're  
kidding."

"That look like I'm kidding?" She pointed over to two women who were  
carrying a long pole between them over to the fire. Draped over it  
were six large spiders, each approximately a foot across, their long,  
fat legs curling and sizzling as they lowered the spit over the fire.

Garak jumped to his feet and backed away quickly.

"Relax, they're dead," she snorted and continued to eat, looking at  
him in amusement. "For a foot soldier you sure are soft."

"I'm not a foot soldier," Garak grimaced.

"Prison guard, whatever," Anwen said then gestured to his bowl. "You  
gonna eat or what?"

"I've lost my appetite." Garak shuddered as the smell of the insects  
wafted through the cave.

"Suit yourself," she said, picking up his bowl and digging in. "This  
is your last free meal, though. After this, you work. Everyone  
contributes here."

Garak looked around. The cavern was huge. There were approximately  
three dozen children of varying ages running around, and several  
others, all under the age of two, were lying in rough-hewn cradles  
stuffed with straw and lined with soft rags. At least four of the  
infants and eight of the older children were hybrids. "You allow  
half-Cardassian children to live among you?"

"They're half-Bajoran and yes, we do." She looked at him sharply. "If  
you don't like it, you can leave."

He didn't answer her. He counted all of the adults he could see and  
added them to the group he saw leave earlier that morning. There were  
fifteen of them all together, all female. "Where are your men?"

"Dead. Gone. Prison, work camps. A lot of them were rounded up and  
taken to work the plant up in Terok Nor." She shrugged. "We do okay."

"Hardly," Garak said dryly.

They were obviously barely hanging on. There were too many children  
and not enough food to go around. They were eating insects and  
whatever they could scrounge or steal. These weren't terrorists, they  
were refugees.

He looked at the women closely. They were an unattractive lot, even  
for Bajorans. Most of them were plain-faced with callused hands; farm  
stock and peasants obviously. The ones who didn't have their hair  
shaved to practically their skulls wore it as a tangled matted mess.  
Most were clean though. There was an underwater spring somewhere down  
in one of the caves, and they frequently went back and forth hauling  
great clay pots filled with water for the cooking fires.

He had watched in surprise and no little amusement that morning when a  
small group of the women went behind a curtain to remove their clean  
shifts to come out dressed in filthy rags. They then dragged their  
hands in dirt and smeared it over their faces and arms. At the time he  
thought it was for sun protection or perhaps camouflage. So far  
nothing these women did seem to make sense to him.

"Admiring the livestock?" Anwen said. Apparently she had been studying  
him as well.

"You make yourselves look unkempt on purpose: why?"

"Ugly is easier," she said coolly. "A spoonhead will rape anything  
with a hole, but the pretty ones get kept. A plain woman gets sent  
back to where she came from."

Garak tried not to wince as he heard her matter-of-fact dismissal of  
rape. "A comfort woman is at least kept well, better than this. I know  
a lot of ranking officers keep harems."

"Did you?" she asked.

"No. I've only been on Bajor six months and keeping up with more than  
one lover at a time has never appealed to me." He eyed her with a  
superior air. "Women, in my experience, are usually more trouble than  
they're worth. I've never even bothered to deal with Bajorans in that  
manner."

"Comfort women aren't lovers; they're either slaves or whores." Anwen  
put down the bowl and wiped her hands on her tattered pants. "They get  
fed and fucked and watch their children get carted away and killed  
like they were just trash or an inconvenient reminder that Bajorans  
and spoonheads are compatible enough to produce offspring. I guess  
that's why people like you don't seem so comfortable having them  
around, huh?"

"If I were that uncomfortable with the idea of hybrids, I could have  
blasted those rocks over your heads and spared myself a lot of  
trouble," Garak returned.

"I'm sorry. You're right." She looked at him curiously. "You're  
different than most Cardies I've met. What's your story? Hell, what's  
your name? You never said."

"Garak."

"Just Garak?"

"Just Garak," he said curtly. The last person who called him Elim  
other than Tain was dead. He didn't need the reminder.

"Plain and simple," she said, nodding. "I like it."

"Like you? Plain and simple?" he said, allowing his voice to become a bit snide.

"You think we're stupid?" Anwen asked, not appearing insulted at all  
by his attitude.

"You raise your children in caves and train them to rub dung in their  
hair to discourage sexual abuse. I think you're all geniuses," he  
said, not bothering to tone down his sarcasm.

"First off, if you spoonheads weren't up your own asses you'd  
recognize that the Bajorans had a thriving culture before you people  
decided to shit all over our world," she said, her anger bubbling to  
the surface. "As for the children, they're starving, in case you  
didn't notice. Their parents have been hauled off or killed and they  
have to fend for themselves! So they rub shit in their hair and keep  
themselves dirty so they can beg and steal food from the camps and  
hope that Koril doesn't decide to fuck them despite the stink. That's  
not stupid, it's survival."

Garak felt properly chastened at that. "I'm sorry. I apologize for  
insulting you."

"Doesn't change anything," she shrugged, but her voice was less angry now.

"I can't apologize for every wrong done to your people. The Occupation  
has lasted 60 years. I didn't start it," Garak said in a low voice.

"Yeah, but you sleep on Bajoran cotton sheets and use oils in your  
hair harvested from our trees, and that last big breakfast you ate was  
cooked by Bajoran slaves," she said quietly.

"Actually, I cooked the last meal I ate," Garak smiled slightly.  
"Koril had me 'help' in the kitchens."

"Oh well, there you go then!" She lifted her cup of water in salute,  
"Congratulations! You're now officially Bajoran. All is forgiven."

Despite himself, Garak began to laugh. She looked at him with narrowed  
eyes then flung her water in his face.

He sputtered and choked, sneezing as the liquid went up his nose. When  
he was done, through the tears stinging his eyes, he saw her smile.

And in those few minutes the knot in his chest began to loosen, just a little.

******

After a week or so, the ragtag group of women warriors had gotten used  
to his presence. They weren't comfortable around him, but they allowed  
him to wander around - albeit under their watchful eyes. The children  
even started to relax around him, running around and tearing through  
the camp as if he were invisible.

He grimaced and sat down the heavy crock of water as two of the  
children nearly collided with him. "Stop running! You'll fall and  
break something!" He growled. "Like me," he muttered, stretching his  
sore back.

He had officially been designated the camp's pack mule, fetching and  
carrying and doing the majority of the heavy lifting. It earned him a  
portion of the food and a pallet to sleep on. Nothing else.

"Hey, Cardie! That water goes over by the fire!" one of the women said  
as she looked up from the insects she was butchering.

He didn't bother to answer, he just hefted the jug and walked over to  
her and sat it down with a thump. "Your water."

"Great," she said, popping some spider meat into her mouth. "Now all  
you got is six more to fetch and I can start the soup. Aliel and Momo  
just brought back a whole nest of palukoo; some real juicy ones. Got  
some nice moss and a bunch of mushrooms, too. Gonna be a real feast  
tonight."

He controlled the urge to vomit. Despite the enthusiasm the women and  
children displayed over the vile things, he still refused to eat them.  
He'd have to collect his own dinner again today. He'd learned to make  
do by boiling the moss near the spring in salt water and creating a  
thick mush from it. It wasn't exactly flavorful, but it was better  
than spider soup.

"I'll pass," Garak said, walking away and ignoring the woman's grating  
cackle that followed him. His finicky appetite had become something of  
a camp joke among the women.

As he walked over to retrieve another empty container, he overheard  
Jomat Luscon talking to the eight women who comprised the core of her  
cell.

"Word is there's a big shipment of food coming in from the north," she  
said, pointing to a map. "Koril's having a big dinner party tonight.  
He's got some special guests coming over and he wants to make an  
impression. There's no cover and it'll be guarded, but maybe we can  
sneak into the compound and steal a few boxes before the kitchen staff  
unloads the truck. It won't be much, just what we can carry, but if  
we're fast we might score enough food to keep us going for a while."

He stopped and listened carefully as they each offered their own ideas.

"To bad we can't just take the truck," Anwen said. "That much food and  
we wouldn't have to hunt spiders for at least a month."

Garak spoke up. "Perhaps I can help."

"Don't you have some water to fetch, tenderfoot?" the woman called  
Momo said snidely.

Anwen glared at her. "If Garak has an idea, I wouldn't mind hearing  
it. I don't know about you but I'm sick of palukoo and moss three  
times a day, and that's only when we get lucky enough to find them."

"You have something to say, Garak?" Luscon asked, eyeing him  
carefully. The leader of their cell obviously didn't know what to make  
of him yet, so Garak made sure to move carefully around her.

He looked at the map. "Show me the route this truck carrying the food  
is supposed to take."

Luscon pointed to the central road leading from the country to the  
prison. "They load up here and then it's a fairly straight shot. They  
avoid the pass so we can't get the advantage there. It's all open  
country."

"Do you know what time and where the truck does its pickup?" Garak  
asked, formulating a plan.

"Yes, why?" Luscon asked.

"If you can't get to the food, then let the food come to you."

******

When she wanted to, Anwen could be a very beautiful woman, Garak  
thought, as he watched her walk up and down the road about a mile  
outside the prison. She had bathed and combed her hair and put on a  
clean short shift Garak had quickly done up before they left.

She and the other women had watched earlier as he sharpened a piece of  
palukoo shell into a needle and modified one of her existing shapeless  
dresses into something more suitable to their mission.

"What were you? A tailor or something?" Momo had said, her voice  
envious as she watched him quickly throw the gown together.

"Hardly. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how to run a needle  
and thread through cloth."

"I didn't accuse you of being a genius, tenderfoot. I asked if you  
were a tailor."

"Leave him alone, Momo, let him work," Anwen had said, watching as he  
put his plan into action.

Now he was crouched behind a boulder with Momo watching from her post  
across the road. Right on time a military transport headed their way  
and Anwen stood in the middle of the road, her barely there rough  
shift showing as much of her as would be needed to get the soldiers'  
attentions.

They slowed down the truck and leered. "How much?" the driver asked.

"A strip each," she said coyly. "I can make it worth your while."

"That bitch isn't worth it," his partner said beside him. "She isn't  
worth even half that for both of us."

"You got any food?" she asked. "I'll do you both for some food."

The Cardassians looked at each other. "We will have some. We're just  
going to town now. You play nice and we'll give you all the food you  
want on our way back," the driver promised.

"How do I know you'll really do it?" she asked uncertainly.

"We could drag you behind those rocks and take it anyway, but we don't  
have that much time," he sneered. "You open those pretty little thighs  
for us without a fight and you'll have your pick of Gul Koril's  
feast."

"Okay," she nodded. "One at a time though. I don't take on two  
spoonheads at once. I learned my lesson."

"Too rough for you, little girl?" the passenger snorted.

"Too big. You Cardies are hung like monsters compared to Jories."

"Like that's news to us," the driver said, opening the door. "Get in."

"I like to fuck on my hands and knees," Anwen said provocatively.  
"Easier to take that way and I'm real tight. All my spoonies say so.  
How about we do it in the back of the truck? It's empty, right?"

"Oh yeah," he said, jumping out and taking her arm into his beefy  
grip. He turned to his partner. "You stay up here and honk if you see  
anyone coming."

"Will do," he nodded. "And speaking of coming, don't mess her up. I  
don't like dipping my meat in somebody else's sauce."

"I'm not making any promises," he said, leering at Anwen.

When they got to the back of the truck, Anwen bent over and put her  
hands on the back of it, shaking her ass at the soldier and pulling  
her dress up so he could see she wasn't wearing underwear. "You like  
it? It's clean, too. I've never got any complaints about how I keep  
myself for my spoonies."

"Oh yeah, I'll just bet," he said, reaching for the fasteners on his  
pants just before a heavy blow from behind cracked his skull.

He fell on the ground. Garak motioned for Momo to circle around as  
Anwen made loud grunting noises and began to rock the truck by  
pressing on the bumper. The hover truck began to bob slightly.

"Hey, Klevon! Don't stretch it out too much! I want my turn at that  
little bitch, too!" the other soldier called out.

"Why don't you come out and get me?" Anwen shouted. "This spoonie's  
cock is so good I'm tempted to make an exception and take both of you  
on! You can get my mouth while he fills me from the other end!"

"Don't have to ask me twice, little girl!" he said, hopping out of the  
truck and straight into the business end of Momo's rifle.

"Say goodnight, Spoonie," she said, just before she put him down for good.

******

"Where's your partner? Don't you guys usually make the pick up in pairs?"

Garak shrugged and hitched his thumb toward town. "He decided to get  
himself a piece of Jori ass down the road. It's his birthday so I told  
him to take all the time he needed before we headed back. You got the  
truck loaded yet?"

"Everything Gul Koril asked for as well as your normal supplies," the  
Cardassian said, handing him a PADD. "Sign here and you're free to go.  
Should be a real feast tonight."

He signed Klevon's name and nodded. "Only for the high-bloods. Us  
grunts only get the leftovers."

"Isn't that the truth?" he snorted as he smacked the hood of the  
truck. "See you next week if they don't keep switching you guys  
around."

"You know how officers get. Always messing around with what works. See you!"

Garak drove off toward where Momo and Anwen where waiting. Oh yes, it  
was going to be a feast tonight, and not one bit of it would consist  
of dead spiders and moss.

******

After the heist of Koril's food shipment, Luscon began to regularly  
include Garak in their strategy sessions. At first, he and the other  
members of the cell circled each other warily. Garak had pretty much  
accepted the fact that he was stuck where he was. His only hope of  
getting off Bajor alive was to wait it out until the war ended, but it  
seemed to drag on and on.

He spent the first two months with the cell planning attacks on  
anything Maros Koril had a hand in that would serve the group's  
interests. They rerouted food deliveries, intercepted prisoners being  
transferred out to work the mines, and basically did anything and  
everything they could to make Koril's life on Bajor as difficult as  
possible.

It was not an altruistic effort on Garak's part. If he had to live  
among the Bajorans, a wanted man by his own people, then the least he  
would do is get some revenge for the death of Emar.

He had taken to discussing his plans in detail with Anwen after their  
evening meal. They sat near his fire on his cot and talked. It was  
like having Emar back in a way, he thought.

Unlike Emar, Anwen had no formal education, but she came from an  
educated family. She had told him her father had been a history  
teacher before dying in a prison camp. She didn't remember him but her  
mother passed on his books and taught her to read and write. She had a  
quick wit and a sharp tongue that amused him, so every evening they'd  
sit together and he'd tell her stories about Cardassia and its  
literature.

"So, they just keep losing the people they love over and over again,  
but it's okay because it's for the good of the state?" she asked, her  
tone making her opinion of the work fairly obvious. "Isn't that a  
little melodramatic and repetitive? I mean, can't they figure it out  
by the third generation that maybe they should take a step back and  
not kill their lovers? I mean, how does keeping a family miserable  
generation after generation help anything?"

"You'd have to read the book to understand," he said wearily.

"Well, the title pretty much sums it up for me." She lifted her  
eyebrows in emphasis. "'The Never Ending Sacrifice'; talk about a  
downer."

"The repetitive theme is a part of the appeal. It's considered a - why  
do I even bother?" Garak said rolling his eyes. "Your idea of good  
literature probably involves busty wenches and weathered farm hands."

"Well, not 'busty' wenches," she said, looking at her non-existent  
chest ruefully.

Garak merely grinned and sipped at his tea. "We're running low on  
supplies. We'll have to pay another visit to Koril's pantry soon."

Momo and Luscon wandered near and sat down across from him.

"Our regular bag of tricks isn't going to cut it anymore," Luscon  
looked at him curiously, "You have anything else in mind this time?"

"I have a few things in mind to try, but I want to think them through  
a bit more first." He glanced over at the women and children either  
sleeping or talking quietly amongst themselves. "That fever that was  
going through the camp seems to be under control. The medicine we  
stole worked."

"Good thing it did; we can't afford to lose anyone. Nine people  
against an army? We're already short-handed." Luscon sighed and looked  
across the sea of bodies littering the floor of the cave. "We just got  
word that the Shakaar cell assassinated a collaborator right under the  
nose of Dukat. He's already spinning it though. Blames it on you," she  
said, tilting her chin toward him.

"Me?" Garak asked in surprise.

"Not you exactly, tenderfoot," Momo snickered. "Your evil den of  
operatives or some shit."

"What have you heard?" Garak asked.

"After that friend of yours was killed - what was his name?" Luscon asked.

"Emar. Emar Varras." Garak said quietly.

"Varras?" Anwen asked.

"Yes, why?"

"It's nothing," she said, a smile spreading over her face. "It's just funny."

"Why would that be funny?" Garak said, his voice even but his face  
clouding over dangerously.

"Don't get offended Garak, it's nothing bad," she assured him. "It's  
just his name: Varras. It's close to the Bajoran word for truth-sayer:  
Varrat."

"Truth-sayer?" Garak mused. "It would have certainly suited him."

"Anyway, like I was saying," Luscon continued, "after your friend  
died, Koril sent word to Dukat that he was killed by you. Dukat sort  
of spun it into this big call to arms. He said that a 'vile agent' of  
a covert group of Cardassians who was interested in nothing more than  
weakening the Cardassian armed forces serving on Bajor murdered one of  
his own in cold blood."

"Yeah, something about how the civilian government set the whole thing  
up to make him look bad somehow. He also claims that this group is  
responsible for framing his father for some crime he didn't commit and  
now he's got every Cardie out there looking over their shoulders and  
wondering who to trust," Momo said.

"It works in our favor, really," Luscon said thoughtfully.  
"Cardassians distrusting Cardassians mean we can get in and do what we  
have to. As long as they're watching each other we're free and clear."

"What was this about an assassination on Terok Nor?" Garak asked,  
putting the pieces together. Dukat was attacking the Obsidian Order in  
a bid to not only clear his father's name and, thereby, his own, but  
also to hold on to Bajor a little while longer.

The last thing Garak needed was to spend another few years in this  
cave waiting for the war to end. By now, Tain had written him off. He  
was disavowed entirely; the exposure to the Obsidian Order in his name  
was enough to warrant that on its own. Tain also had his betrayal to  
hold against him. He'd had numerous chances to get back in his  
master's good graces; a simple apology would have cost him some pride  
and perhaps a few more months waiting for Tain to make him his  
successor, but it would have meant Emar would have lived and he  
wouldn't be clawing for survival in a cave as an unofficial member of  
a terrorist cell.

Elim Garak, the pride of the Order, a terrorist for the opposition. The irony.

I have to up the stakes, Garak thought. If Dukat is using  
disinformation and propaganda to keep the war effort going, I have to  
counter it.

It was time to center their efforts on Gul Dukat.

******

"You've got to be shitting me!" Momo burst out.

"It will work!" Garak insisted. "If Shakaar's cell was able to  
infiltrate Terok Nor, then so can we."

"Shakaar's cell is elite, tenderfoot!" Momo shot back. "We're a bunch  
of sneak thieves and babysitters!" Jomat Luscon gave her a rebuking  
look but Momo brushed her off. "Look boss, I know you think we've been  
showing some real progress since Spoonie joined up, but stealing a  
truck and freeing a few mine workers isn't the same thing as shaking  
our asses in Dukat's face and asking him to take a big whiff. It ain't  
gonna work!"

"Can you really pull this off, Garak?" Jomat asked quietly.

Garak thought about it. "It'll be tricky, but we've got a good team.  
Momo, you were an engineer, right?"

"I was a mechanic, tenderfoot! The only things I ever learned to read  
are engine manuals. Don't make me out to be no high-ass Jori  
collaborator who got herself an education by laying on her back!" She  
looked at him with narrowed eyes. "I don't do dick. I only tolerate  
you because you're practically a woman."

"Take it as a compliment," Anwen said, putting her hand on his arm.  
"She's just pissy because her girlfriend has been holding out on her."

Momo glowered at her, then glanced over at Aliel who was purposefully  
ignoring their group, "Dammit. Me and Zinthy didn't even do anything!  
She offered and I just turned her down gently, is all."

Seral, one of the other members of the core group, snickered rudely.  
"Give it up, girl. She caught you down by the hot springs with your  
hand in Zinthy's crotch and your tongue down her throat."

"Yeah, well, I was still dressed," Momo shrugged with a small smile.  
"It don't count unless you both get to fly."

"Yeah, well, I'd say Aliel doesn't see it that way," Anwen grinned.

Garak shifted uncomfortably and tried to ignore the fact that Anwen  
hadn't removed her hand from his arm yet. She just rested it there,  
like it belonged; like she was allowed to touch him without asking.

It bothered him. Especially since he was beginning to like it.

He carefully patted Anwen's hand then removed it from his arm gently  
and set it away from him. He ignored her curious look as he continued  
to explain his idea to them.

"The runabouts and military shuttles are pretty heavily guarded, but  
there is a military 'boneyard' about six miles from the base, here."  
He pointed to the map. "It's virtually wide open. The guards  
practically are asleep on their feet. It was actually just one of the  
glaring deficiencies in Koril's security that I was going to put in my  
report." He grinned. "He, like many Cardassians, equate the idea of  
the unwashed masses with the unintelligent masses."

"But you, of course, always recognized that we Bajorans are equally  
intelligent as you Cardassians right from the get go," Anwen said with  
exaggerated brightness.

He ignored her as the others snickered. "Koril figured that because we  
weren't interested in salvaging outdated and damaged ships, the  
Bajorans wouldn't be either." He smiled and leaned back slightly. "His  
gross incompetence is going to give us our advantage."

"I still say you're fucked in the head," Momo scoffed. "You want to  
steal a ship one piece at a time?"

"We kept the hover-truck from our first job two months ago," Anwen  
said thoughtfully. "It's risky, but we can sneak in and steal what we  
need over the course of several days if we have to."

"Prostitutes regularly stroll down there picking up strips from the  
two guards assigned to the front gate. The back entrance has a  
computerized lockout that Koril relied upon heavily. It is fairly  
sophisticated, I'll grant you, but I happen to know a little about  
hacking into security systems," Garak said with a crooked smile. "They  
don't lock up the lifting equipment; they just leave it out so they  
can use it when they need it. We hot-wire a lift, then load the back  
of the truck with what we need a little at a time. We'll bring back  
enough so that Momo can piece it together. We'll all work on it - even  
the older children if we have to. We'll need enough to piece together  
a working ship and transporter, as well as at least two subspace  
communicators besides the one already on the ship. One for here and  
one we'll put deep in the canyons so when we relay the communications  
their sensors will be so confused they won't be able to get a lock on  
our location."

"It'll take a month to do this, Garak, maybe more," Jomat said  
thoughtfully. "Is using that many of our resources and taking that  
much of a risk really worth it?"

"Yeah, and how the fuck am I supposed to rebuild a Cardassian  
transport with nothing but palukoo shells and rocks? We don't have any  
tools, tenderfoot," Momo said snidely.

"If we can break into the boneyard, what makes you think breaking into  
a mechanic's shed will pose any greater challenge?" Garak returned.

Momo paused for a moment then turned to Jomat. "I'm going in with  
them, boss. Garak strikes me as the type who don't know one end of a  
phase coupler from the other. I know what I'll need."

"Not until we retrieve all the parts. If the tools come up missing  
they'll notice it a lot sooner than they will some scrap metal and  
burned out wreckage," Garak said.

"All right then, we're doing this. Momo, Garak, and Seral - you take  
the boneyard. Anwen, you be their lookout," Jomat ordered. "Take it  
slow and don't get greedy. You load down the truck too much and you'll  
never get over the pass. You'll go tomorrow night: until then, get  
some sleep. Tomorrow I'll send Aliel and Jameka out to our contacts at  
the farm to 'borrow' some of Koril's produce and keep us going for a  
while. I want to keep this within our cell, so I can't contact Shakaar  
and ask how he got his operatives on the station. We'll have to come  
up with our own plan after we get the ship put together."

"Yeah, and also so they don't get all the glory," Momo snorted.

"I hear Shakaar has had a piece of every woman in his cell," Seral  
said with an arched eyebrow.

"That's why I'm glad we don't got any men in our group. Bunch of  
useless sad sacks," Momo announced. Garak glared at her. "Not you,  
tenderfoot. You're a Cardie, you don't count."

"Thanks," Garak said dryly. "I appreciate that. Really."

"Anytime. I gotta hit the hay!" Momo said, stretching as she got up  
and glancing over at Aliel. "I'm gonna try to sweet talk my girl into  
scratching an itch I've had for a week; otherwise I might have to slip  
over to Zinthy and offer her more than a little tickle."

"Very charming, Momo," Seral grimaced. "At least go take your  
screaming piece of ass over to the other side of the cave this time.  
All that moaning and wailing last time kept me and my kid awake all  
night."

"Hey, sweetling, any time you get tired of waiting for that man of  
yours to come back from the mines, I'll be more than happy to keep you  
satisfied," Momo winked.

"Prophets, if you were a man I swear you'd walk around with a tent in  
your pants 26 hours a day," Seral said in mock disgust as she walked  
over toward her little girl who was giggling and playing with a hybrid  
girl of around the same age.

After they all said their goodnights and made their way back to their  
pallets, Anwen held back and looked at him curiously. "Are you going  
down to the hot spring tonight?"

"Perhaps," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I think the rest of the women  
and children are settling in for the night. Why do you ask? Did you  
need to go bathe? I can wait."

"Just asking," Anwen said with a shrug. "You're a bit on the gamy side  
and I was hoping you were planning on remedying it soon. It's a big  
cave, but some smells carry."

"I'll be sure to remedy it," Garak said, unamused.

"Make sure you do," Anwen said smartly. "The 'ladies' took a vote and  
I was elected spokesman. They're all in agreement that a living with a  
clean Cardie is a hell of a lot better than sharing space with one  
that smells like he'd been rolling around in a sulfur pit."

Garak glared at her retreating form as he gathered together his soap  
and wash rags. As soon as she was at a safe distance, he  
surreptitiously sniffed his armpits tentatively. "Oof." He drew back  
slightly. Well, maybe she wasn't *completely* exaggerating.

******

The sole saving grace of the caves of Tzenketh was the hot spring  
about a half a kilometer from the main cavern. It was a communal  
bathing spot which the women enjoyed - if they didn't have to share  
the springs with spiders, that is.

One of the curiosities about that part of the caves were the  
phosphorescent rocks that bathed the spring in a soft glow. The women  
kept lamps around the perimeter as well to encourage the spiders to  
avoid the hot, humid space.

It was all good and well to eat them but they didn't want to bathe  
with them, a fact for which Garak was grateful.

He waited until the women were sleeping, then he took his soap and  
wash rags down to the springs. Not wanting to clean his filthy,  
grease-spattered clothes in the spring itself, he filled the wash tub  
set up beside the pool with hot water, added some soap, and stripped,  
throwing his clothes into the tub as he removed them. Once he had  
scrubbed the clothing clean, he picked up the small phaser the women  
kept hanging on the wall above the reach of the children and directed  
a low energy pulse to a long, flat rock beside the tub. As soon as it  
glowed a warm amber, he carefully laid his clothing on the rock,  
letting its heat steam his clothing dry.

He had three sets of clothing, two from the guards they had killed  
when they stole the truck and the one he had come with. He tried to  
keep them in good repair and kept his own uniform aside so that it  
wouldn't looked tattered when he was on assignment. The other two he  
wore around the caves - without the armor, of course. Sleeping and  
working in the same two sets of clothes and underwear for two months  
had taken their toll on the fabric, he thought, as he eyed the frayed  
and torn sleeves. He was going to have to pick up his needle again and  
make himself a tunic and trousers or raid the base for some clean  
underwear.

His childhood wasn't pampered by any stretch of the imagination, but  
Tain had never been stingy with his money. He'd always had the best of  
everything: clothes, food, wine, and education. He missed it, but part  
of him was very proud that he had managed as well as he had. Tain, of  
course, would not see it that way, but it was gratifying nonetheless.

He stepped into the steaming water and groaned, his scales tingling  
with pleasure as he dove under the water and held his breath for a  
minute before popping back up. He then swam over to the shallow end  
and picked up the bar of soap he'd brought with him along with one of  
his wash rags. Seral had made the soap from the rendered fat of a boar  
they had stolen from a Cardassian-controlled farm, scenting the  
finished product with the sap of a bush that grew in the mountains.  
The heady, completely alien scent seemed almost as magnificent to  
Garak as the heat that permeated every pore of his body.

After he had lathered his scalp and hair he leaned back and rinsed,  
then ran the washrag over his broad chest. He'd always kept in shape,  
but the heavy lifting and spare diet had made his figure more trim and  
tightly muscled than he had remembered it ever being. He hadn't been  
in this good shape since boot camp, he thought with amusement, as he  
scrubbed under his arms. When he finished the top half of his body, he  
ran the soapy cloth over his genitals and under his heavy sack,  
carefully pulling back his foreskin and cleaning his glans, rinsing  
quickly before the soap could sting.

He thought about Anwen and how her hand had felt on his arm. He gave  
his length a tentative stroke, closing his eyes when the pleasure  
began to build.

It had been a long time, he thought. He had always been highly sexual.  
He frequently took lovers in the past, both men and women, but he  
always kept his focus on the job. Cardassians were a race that could  
easily be misled by their own vices. When Garak took a lover, he  
always made sure to keep a safe emotional distance from them.

Until Emar.

He stopped stroking himself and sighed. It had been foolish, perhaps,  
to fall so quickly for the young man, but he had been very special. He  
had his weaknesses; he was spoiled, arrogant, more than a bit naïve -  
but so beautiful.

Not at all like Anwen.

Well, except the arrogance, Garak conceded.

Nara Anwen was not spoiled, and certainly not naive, but she was smart  
\- very smart, and also very cunning. She wasn't traditionally  
beautiful by any means, but her mind intrigued him. He leaned back on  
the heated rocks and stroked himself again remembering the way she  
looked in the short dress he had made her. Imagining those long,  
tanned legs wrapping around him as he entered her soft heat, he  
moaned, sliding his thumb over his slit and feeling the tightness  
build deep inside.

He heard a splash and jumped, expecting to have to fend off one of  
those damned palukoo, only to see Anwen swimming toward him. At first  
he thought he was imagining things, that the heat had gotten to his  
head; when he came to his senses, he dove under the water to hide his  
nakedness. "What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I felt like taking a bath," she shrugged, smiling slightly as she  
examined his muscular chest with interest. "Don't stop what you were  
doing on my account."

Much to Garak's utter humiliation, he felt a blush crawl up his  
cheeks. "Get out of here!"

"Okay," she said, coming out of the water and exposing her small, pert  
breasts to his gaze. Her pale nipples were soft from the heat, but her  
expression revealed exactly what her motives for coming there were.

Garak's breath caught in his throat and he hastily turned away. "You  
need to leave. If one of the others catches you here-"

"They'll what?" Anwen asked. He heard the amusement in her voice.  
"Stone us? Garak, not hardly a single woman among us hasn't had a  
Cardie between our thighs. Some of us even liked it when it was by  
choice." She drew her hand down his spine and he flinched. "Come on  
Garak, there aren't any other men around and I've had an ache for a  
while now. Hell," she snorted, "after the first time we saw you work  
with your shirt off, half the women were placing bets on who would get  
to you first! I won," she said seductively.

He turned to her and held out his hand, letting her know to back off.  
"This isn't happening, Anwen. Get dressed and go back to camp."

"You're not like Momo, are you?" she asked uncertainly. "I know you  
and that man you were with had something, but you don't go just that  
way, do you?" She eased forward again. "I mean, I've had a woman  
between my thighs a few times and it was nice, but sometimes you need  
more. Expand your horizons." She reached under the water and ran her  
fingers over his hardness.

He gasped and her mouth opened slightly, her nipples hardening under  
his gaze. She licked her lips and looked at him. The sheer need  
shining in her dark eyes was his complete undoing. He reached for her  
and captured her mouth with his one, pulling her hips to his and  
groaning as her pubic mound rubbed against his erection.

"Do it," she whispered. "Don't bother with the fancy stuff, I've been  
ready for weeks."

He swung her around and pressed her back against the rock. Her legs  
wrapped around his hips under the water and he lunged forward, filling  
her with a rough stroke.

She cried out, but he didn't give her time to adjust for his length.  
His hips bucked forward over and over again, striking against her  
cervix as she yelped and moaned, her fingers digging and cutting into  
his shoulders. He shut his eyes and moaned; he was so hard it hurt and  
she was so tight. So wet and so tight.

He hitched her body up against him and dipped his head down so he  
could take one of her breasts into his mouth. They were so small he  
could almost mouth the whole mound. He nibbled her nipple and she  
reached between their bodies to rub her swollen clit. He lifted his  
head then snatched her hand away, replacing it with his own. He  
thumbed the hot bundle of nerves until she screamed, then with a roar  
he gave one final thrust and emptied himself.

As he held her quaking body to his own and buried his nose in her  
hair, he realized two things. For the first time since he had found  
himself in this whole situation, he felt alive. Truly alive.

And second, this would not be just a one-night stand.

******

Garak kept an eye on the sensors as he and Momo sat huddled in the  
ship they had built, waiting for Anwen's signal from Terok Nor. The  
ship was serviceable, barely, but as the bulkheads creaked he became  
aware of exactly how close he was to the vacuum of space.

It had taken them not quite two months and several close calls to get  
the ship operational, and it was still a rough ride getting to the  
space just outside of Terok Nor's visual sensors.

He smiled to himself as he thought of seeing his lover again. She had  
been the aggressor, he had to admit: shortly after their sexual  
encounter in the springs, she had dragged over her pallet and made  
herself at home around Garak's fire. At first he was reluctant to  
accept her there, but she ignored his protests and combined their  
bedding, then slipped inside his arms and slept. The other women  
noticed, but no one said anything. It was just accepted.

Garak was one of them and he belonged to Anwen now. It was the closest  
thing these people had to marriage, given that they had no priests or  
government to formalize the arrangement. At first he wasn't sure how  
he felt about that, but at night when the others slept and he slipped  
quietly inside of his lover, he was content.

He had pretty much decided that when the war ended and he was able to  
escape, he would take her with him. It was a big universe, and so far  
all she knew was Bajor and some of the harsher aspects of Cardassia.  
He would be her teacher, her lover, and her companion. With Emar,  
there had been the comfort of status to fall back on, but with Anwen  
there was the freedom of not having to answer to anyone. No society to  
deal with, no joining of their houses and complex legal agreements.  
They could truly be free.

But first, he had to escape Bajor permanently.

Logically he knew he could just take the transport they had  
resurrected and leave, but it had no weapons systems and wasn't very  
reliable. He also knew Anwen wouldn't agree to abandon her people  
until they were free, and her opinion of him had begun to matter.

Momo sat beside him nervously as he scanned for Anwen's signal.

"I don't like this, tenderfoot. That woman of yours is taking her time  
and this rust bucket don't exactly pass inspection," she said, her  
hands on the controls.

"She knows what she's doing. She managed to blend in with the mining  
crews, didn't she?" he said without looking up.

"That ain't the hard part. The hard part is slipping past all them  
spoonies and getting the rewiring right. I sure as hell hope she was  
paying attention, is all."

"You went over the communications relays with her so many times even I  
have it memorized," he said in a confident tone.

But he wasn't confident. Not completely.

Dukat was known for his women and Anwen was an extremely attractive  
female. At least to him she was. He had gotten used to the smoothness  
of her face and the freckles that covered every part of her body,  
including her oddly pale nipples. When they had private time together,  
he'd kiss his way down her long torso and count them before tasting  
her womanly musk. Her openness in bed combined with her acceptance of  
his bisexuality and his of her own occasional same-sex flirtation was  
a heady combination. But since they had begun sharing a pallet, other  
than the odd thought of Emar, he had been content with her, as content  
as she apparently was with him. The thought of Dukat somehow seeing  
through her purposefully plain disguise and ordering her taken into  
his harem sent a cold chill up his spine.

If he so much as touched her, he'd-

"That's it! We're online!" Momo crowed. "Let's beam that clever little  
bitch of ours back and skin out!"

Garak immediately locked onto her signal and held his breath as her  
form began to shimmer and coalesce on the transporter pad behind them.

Momo watched the energy pattern flicker and distort and began to  
mutter, "Come on, come on, don't lose it. Come on, baby. Do it, do it  
like I built you to."

When she finally materialized Garak released the breath he hadn't even  
realized he had been holding. She tossed aside the beacon she had been  
carrying and smiled at him. "We did it."

Garak leaped up and gathered her in his arms, shaking with emotion,  
then turned to Momo. "Get us home!"

"You got it, boss!" Momo said, turning them about and taking the long  
way home behind one of the four moons circling Bajor to avoid the  
sensors. "When we get this piece of shit back to the south cavern I'm  
taking that transporter apart again. I can't take this shit no more.  
I'm getting too damn old."

******

"Now what?" Seral asked, looking at the comm unit they'd pieced  
together from salvaged parts.

"Well, me and Momo have the relays up and running so all there is left  
is to use it," Aliel said, looking to Jomat.

Jomat stepped forward and reached for the headset, then stopped.  
"Cardassians are misogynistic and closed-minded as hell. If I do it,  
they'll just laugh and call it the ravings of some Bajoran whore. You  
should do it, Garak." She held the headset out to him.

"It's not my place," Garak said, stepping back. "You're the leader. It's yours."

"Garak..." Jomat lowered her hand and took a breath. "When you joined  
us almost four months ago I thought for sure I'd be putting a hole  
through your chest in a week, but you're still here. You're a big part  
of our cell. No one outside our group knows we have a Cardassian on  
our side; if they did, our own people would probably denounce us as  
collaborators and shut us down. Because of your input, a bunch of  
women and 'ragtag terrorists'," she said with a smile, obviously  
referring to his frequently used phrase, "are finally getting some  
respect from the other cells. People are starting to pay attention to  
Koril and what he's doing here. A military oversight committee is  
gunning for him and he's sweating bullets. You might not be able to  
officially share in our glory, but you've earned our respect, and  
you've earned this."

Garak opened his mouth to object, but no sound came out. He was speechless.

After a moment's hesitation, he took the headset and moved to the comm terminal.

"Hey," Anwen said, touching his arm. "You need a name."

"A name?" Garak asked in confusion.

"Yeah," Momo said, nodding. "You're going to be the free voice of  
Bajor. You need a name, something people can talk about."

Garak thought about it for a moment then remembered something Anwen  
had told him a long time ago in passing. He didn't know if Emar would  
appreciate it, but it was appropriate. "Varrat," he said.

Anwen smiled and the other women nodded in approval.

******

For a year, the voice of Varrat plagued the skies above Bajor. No one  
knew how he did it. They couldn't get a lock on where the signal was  
coming from. Every time they scanned for his transmissions, the entire  
sensor array on Terok Nor turned against itself. Word had gotten back  
to the civilian government on Cardassia about Gul Dukat's failure to  
silence this mysterious Bajoran terrorist known only as 'Varrat - the  
truth-sayer'. They were even calling for his resignation and for the  
military to pull out of Bajor.

Varrat seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the inner workings of  
Cardassian politics. He knew who was stealing from whom, which  
scandals would cause the most harm when exposed to public scrutiny,  
and, best of all, he wasn't shy about naming names.

Bajorans hailed Varrat as a folk hero and more than a few Cardassians  
even listened to his broadcasts in secret, delighting in his wicked,  
almost 'Cardassian' manner of dismantling the reputations of some of  
their greatest and most popular military leaders and politicians.  
Especially Gul Dukat. The Prefect of Bajor was the truth-sayer's  
favorite target.

He no longer spoke about Gul Koril anymore. There was no need. Shortly  
after Koril was replaced on Bajor and sent back to his home of Culat,  
he passed away in his sleep. His brother said it was from natural  
causes. No one questioned it much. Koril wasn't exactly well liked  
anyway.

******

Garak got up from the comm and stretched, heading toward his and  
Anwen's pallet to retrieve his soap and towels. It had been a long day  
and he needed a hot soak. Two of the children nearly collided with him  
and he said, "Be careful!"

"Sorry, Garak," one of the boys said before taking off again after his friend.

Garak shook his head and looked at Anwen who was reading one of the  
books they had 'liberated' from Koril's library just before he left.  
He had never actually read them, keeping them just for show. Jomat  
Luscon and some of the other women who could read had formed a school  
of sorts and Anwen had become their official literature instructor.  
Every night he looked on affectionately as she divided her time  
between lesson plans and coming up with new and better ways of  
stealing food for the camp. "More lessons?"

"No, we're running a little low. I think that we can send the ship  
into orbit behind the fourth moon away from the station, then use the  
transporter to beam one of the food trucks up and then into our back  
yard," she said. "We don't even have to do it locally. We can hit a  
camp on the other side of Bajor."

"Does Momo have that much memory in the buffer?" he asked.

"That's what I'm working on," she snorted. "If we don't figure it out,  
we might all be going on diets soon."

"Suits me." he shrugged, squatting down beside her. "We've been eating  
a little too well lately. Some of us are gaining weight."

Anwen glared at him. "Is that remark directed at me, by any chance?"

"Not at all, my dear," he said innocently, then glanced at her  
breasts. "In fact, it looks good on you. You finally look like  
something other than a flat-chested boy."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment, but *only* because you  
spoonies think saying crap like that is some form of seduction even  
though it just pisses people off," she said, putting down her PADD.

"Speaking of seduction," he whispered near her ear. "Share a bath with me."

Anwen hesitated, then nodded before following him to the hot spring.

As soon as they arrived, Garak began to kiss her tenderly, his hand  
cupping her breast and stroking the nipple through her rough shift.  
She flinched and caught his hand. "Don't," she said.

He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"My breasts hurt," Anwen said, avoiding his gaze.

"Are you sick? Hurt?" He looked at her in concern.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, then licked her lips  
nervously. "I'm...pregnant."

Garak just looked at her, his face completely devoid of expression.

"It's okay. Gala says the pregnancy is progressing normally for a  
hybrid child and I'm already taking the herbs." She looked at him  
hesitantly. "I'm eight weeks gone. I was just waiting for the right  
time to tell you. She says it's a girl. I haven't sneezed much. She  
says that's a sign, but it could be a boy. I guess we'll find out  
soon, huh?"

She reached out to touch him but he flinched and moved away.  
"Garak..." she said.

"You did this on purpose."

"What?"

"You did this on purpose," he said, pinning her with a dead stare.  
"You knew the war was ending, you knew I was leaving. I told you I  
would take you with me but you didn't believe it. You did this on  
purpose."

"You're full of shit!" she yelled angrily.

"You got pregnant on purpose thinking this would guarantee you a place  
in my bed and in my life!" Garak roared back. "You stupid - what were  
you thinking? Do you even know what you've done?"

"Fuck you, Garak!" Anwen shot back. "I wasn't the only one making this  
baby and you knew the herbs weren't 100% effective! How dare you-!"

"You waited eight weeks to tell me!" he growled. "You've known for the  
last four weeks about this and you waited until I noticed your body  
changing before you said anything! You did it so the pregnancy would  
progress to the point where a simple termination was no longer  
possible!"

"Oh, this is so over," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to the  
herbalist right now and if you so much as ever look at me again-!"

"It's too late!" he snapped at her, grabbing her arm and holding her  
in place. "We have to just deal with the consequences."

"If you don't let go of me I will drop you on your Cardassian ass,"  
Anwen said dangerously.

"No. I'm not letting go. You got us into this and *for once* you will  
act like an adult!" His eyes flashed blue fire as he looked down at  
her. "It was going to be hard enough finding a sector where a  
Cardassian and a Bajoran female could live openly together, but now  
you've added a-" He didn't finish the sentence. He just gritted his  
teeth until they hurt.

"A what? A complication? An abomination into the mix?" Anwen asked  
angrily. "Is that what you think of our child? It's an abomination?"  
She shook off his grip and looked at him in disgust. "I'm good enough  
to fuck, to plan your life around, but I'm still just a Jori to you,  
huh?"

"Anwen-"

"Save it," she said, her face a mask of pure fury. "I thought you were  
different, Garak. You aren't. You're just another spoonie and I'll  
always just be your Jori whore."

"That's not true!" he burst out. "Do you have any idea how hard it is  
for a Cardassian bastard to survive even when he has the backing of a  
great house behind him?!? Our child is not only without a house but  
he'll be a half-breed! There are laws against that! Look around that  
cavern!" He pointed down the cave toward their base. "Those children  
out there! Do you think they like living miles underground?!? Do you  
even realize that some of them have literally never seen the sun?!? Do  
you want our child to spend the rest of his life under a rock?!?"

"You're just making excuses!" she shouted.

"No, I'm just telling you the truth! You just don't like hearing it!"  
Garak shot back.

"Fuck you!" Her eyes filled with tears and she began to run down the  
caves away from the camp. "Just stay away from me and my baby,  
*VARRAT*! Take your truth and shove it up your ASS!"

Garak hesitated for a moment then jogged after her. "Anwen!"

He chased after her as she made her way toward the surface. Just as he  
caught up with her, he heard it. "Dammit!"

"What is that?" she asked, wiping the tears off her cheeks with the  
back of her hand as she listened to the low rumble coming toward them.

"A parting gift from Dukat," Garak said grimly. He grabbed her  
shoulders and twisted her around. "Get out of the caves, get as far  
away as you can! If you see any of the children or members of the  
group, keep together and get as far from the cliffs as possible."

"What's happening, Garak?" she asked, her eyes widening as she saw his  
face fill with an emotion she had never seen before: fear.

"He's leveling the mountain range," he said. "He's getting rid of  
Varrat once and for all before he abandons Bajor."

"We have to go get the children!"

She started back down the cave and he stopped her, pulling her into a  
hard embrace and kissing her before shoving her toward the entrance.  
"Go! For once in your life, do as I say and go!"

Their world began to tremble and a rain of small pebbles cascaded  
around them. Garak grabbed her and half pulled, half dragged her  
toward the light at the end of the cave. He wasn't even thinking about  
the rest of the cell or the children anymore. All he knew was he had  
to get them both out of there.

They were just at the mouth of the cave. He could feel the heat of the  
sun and smell the dust that gathered thickly in the wind as Dukat's  
ships rained hell on Tzenketh. He felt a blow to the back of his  
skull, then nothing.

The world went dark.

******

Garak opened his eyes. He hurt. He couldn't see and the air was stale.  
He could move one of his arms, but just barely. He was hurt badly and  
he knew it.

"Anwen?" he whispered hoarsely, feeling around in the dark. "Anwen?"

His fingers felt around until he caught the strands of her hair  
between his fingers. He felt the top of her head. "Anwen? Can you  
move?"

She didn't say anything. He reached his hands out further and felt her  
face, and then he realized the truth.

"NOOOOOO!!!" he wailed as he felt her blood, sticky and long gone  
cold, drip from his fingers.

For two days he laid in the dark, her hair wrapped around his fingers  
as he prayed to whatever dark entities would listen to just let him  
die.

Finally, when his injuries had taken their toll and the air had gone  
so thin his lungs could no longer breathe it in, he succumbed to the  
darkness, welcoming it gladly.

******

"Hello, Elim."

Garak opened his eyes and looked around. He was in a hospital. He  
blinked his eyes and waited for them to clear, then looked around  
again. "Where am I?" he said, not recognizing his own voice. It was  
raspy and almost painful to hear. He cleared his throat.

"Elim," the familiar voice said again. "Pay attention, boy."

Garak looked over to see the face of Tain smiling above him. "Good  
morning, my boy. Did you have a pleasant nap?"

"Where am I?" he asked again, confused.

"Terok Nor." Another voice came from the door way and Garak tried to  
get up to see who it was but couldn't move.

"Don't bother, Elim," Tain said. "It will be another few hours before  
you can move. Let the biobed do its job."

"That's right, Garak," Dukat said, approaching the bed, a harsh smile  
lighting his features. "Rest. You need to gather your strength. After  
all, you have your whole life ahead of you now, don't you?"

"How did I get here?" Garak asked, feeling faint. He closed his eyes  
and willed the room to stop spinning.

"I brought you," Tain said simply. "It's good that you woke up when  
you did. The last of the transports are about to leave the docking  
ports and head for Prime."

"You're taking me back to Cardassia?" Garak asked, licking his lips dryly.

"Oh, you must be thirsty. Gul Dukat? Would you mind?" Tain asked.

"Not at all!" Dukat said broadly as he fetched a cup of water and a  
straw from the table beside him.

Tain brought the straw to Garak's lips and encouraged him to drink.  
"There you are, boy. Nice and slow."

When Garak had drunk enough to be able to speak again, he said, "If  
you wanted me dead why not just leave me in the caves?"

"Oh, but I don't want you to die! I want you to live!" Tain insisted.

"I didn't," Dukat said with a mirthless smile. "But Master Tain  
convinced me otherwise."

"I'm going home?" Garak asked, his vision swimming slightly.

"You are home," Tain said.

******


	10. The Road To Hell

Chapter Ten: The Road To Hell

******

Bashir knelt over the toilet, wrapping his arms around the bowl as the  
last bit of bile came up.

Why had he looked: why had he even looked?

He held on again as he began to dry heave, his stomach clenching again  
and again. After it stopped and he lay sprawled in Sisko's bathroom  
desperately trying to catch his breath, he took the opportunity to  
call himself every name in the book. You complete and utter twat, he  
thought: why did you look?

He had spent most of the afternoon going through the station security  
recordings for the past 26 hours. For some reason the cameras in  
Garak's quarters were no longer functioning, but he had found images  
of the Founder and his 'mother' at Quark's. A moment's look at her  
plate and a quick check of Quark's dinner menu had told him that  
whoever the woman was, it certainly wasn't Amsha Bashir. And then  
there was the conversation in the turbolift...

But then he'd stupidly returned to the live feed, locating a security  
transmission from his own quarters. A small voice wondered how long it  
had been there, but he had ignored it and punched in the code-

-and had ended up puking his guts out in the bathroom.

Intellectually he knew that Garak had to keep up the pretense of being  
the thing's fiancé. He knew that, and he knew how important it was not  
to tip their hand. But to see it, to see what they had been doing all  
this time - it had made him violently ill. And it wasn't because he  
was disgusted by it or even because was angry with Garak: it was  
because one look at Garak's face had told him that the Cardassian had  
entered into his own personal hell.

Last night he would have been pleased to see it. He would have sneered  
at the tormented look on Garak's face as he pleasured the Founder. He  
might have even rejoiced at Garak's humiliation. But today all he  
could see was his friend - yes, friend, he admitted to himself -  
ministering to that *thing* while it was obvious even from the  
low-quality mute video that Garak had been deeply disturbed by the  
pretense. It horrified him to see Garak brought so low, to see him  
virtually prostituting himself just to keep the ruse going. He hoped  
the Founder hadn't noticed, but given that he'd administered a  
hypospray perhaps Garak had given him a medical excuse.

It had also been obvious to him that, even if the Founder had first  
approached Garak with the intention of harming him, it certainly  
didn't seem to feel the same way now. Even when Garak hadn't been able  
to see its face, the thing had acted as if it was in love with him. He  
hadn't seen any pretense on its part at all.

Garak, on the other hand - it had been as plain as day that he had  
been punishing himself. Blaming himself, likely, for having fallen for  
that thing. It's what he would be doing in Garak's position.

Bashir finally felt strong enough to rise to his feet. He staggered  
over to the sink and leaned over it, splashing great handfuls of water  
over his face as the toilet autoflushed.

Damn.

He needed to let Sisko know what he'd found earlier, though, but he  
could hardly use his terminal to contact him...

But then again, he didn't have to. Jake had apparently moved out while  
he was gone - he didn't see any of his possessions in the bathroom or  
main room - but a quick check of the spare bedroom showed that there  
was still a terminal installed. He took a seat and switched it on.

He remembered from talking to Jabara that Human and Bajoran civilians'  
usernames were always the family name followed by the first initial.

PLEASE LOG IN: siskoj  
PASSWORD:

He thought for a moment. What would a 17-year-old boy have as a password?

18 years old, he reminded himself. You missed his birthday.

He pushed that aside. His parents, his friends, baseball: no, Bashir  
thought. He grinned as it suddenly hit him. Kaleeta Doran, the dabo  
girl Jake had been infatuated with.

PASSWORD: kaleeta  
PASSWORD INCORRECT. YOU HAVE TWO TRIES LEFT.

Damn. Maybe it was something else. He then remembered that civilian  
passwords had to contain a number. What would Jake use...

PASSWORD: kaleeta4ever  
PASSWORD INCORRECT. YOU HAVE ONE TRY LEFT.

He sighed. One more try and then he'd give up.

PASSWORD: kaleeta4jake  
GOOD AFTERNOON, JAKE.

Teenage boys were entirely too predictable, he thought, as he opened  
the mail program and began to compose his message.

******

Sisko frowned at his senior staff, all of whom (except for Garak) were  
gathered around the wardroom table. "I've just been informed," he  
said, "that Admiral Gilhouly and his team will arrive at Deep Space  
Nine in approximately three and a half hours." He turned to Worf.  
"Commander, shortly after you and Mr. Garak left for Earth I was  
informed by Starfleet Command that we had been remiss in holding  
regular security drills."

"Drills?" Worf asked. "It was my understanding that drills were not  
required if a station had gone to red alert in the previous six  
weeks."

"Tell that to HQ. At any rate, we're currently in the middle of an  
emergency drill. Admiral Gilhouly is bringing his ship, the USS  
Ulysses, as well as the USS Venture and the USS Titan, and the Admiral  
intends to inspect the station while he's here." He held up a hand as  
Kira opened her mouth to protest. "The Admiral understands this is a  
Bajoran station. He's only here to check on Starfleet readiness and to  
advise the Bajoran government as to any improvements that can be  
made." He looked down at his padd. "And I understand that there have  
been some problems?"

Kira nodded. "We've discovered that the evacuation messages aren't  
getting through to most of the civilian residents. The problem seems  
to be..."

As he listened to her explain the problem they had encountered in  
propagating the emergency messages through the private intranet, his  
message padd suddenly dinged. It was a Priority One message from Jake.  
Why would he-

He downloaded the message.

*FROM: siskoj (Jake Sisko)  
*TO: blsisko (Capt. Benjamin Sisko)  
*RE: Dinner

*Dad! I know you were thinking of making an aubergine  
*casserole for dinner tonight, but could we have pork  
*chops instead? I spoke with Mrs. Bashir this morning  
*and she told me about the pork chops in wine she had  
*at Quark's. He stuffs them with Portobello mushrooms  
*and sautés them, then simmers them in wine. She said  
*they were delicious. You know pork chops have always  
*been one of my favourites. Let me know and I'll find  
*the ingredients.  
*  
*Jake

He frowned. It wasn't like Jake to clog up priority traffic with a  
trivial message, especially since he just moved in with Nog a few  
weeks ago and wouldn't be eating with - and he took a second look at  
the text. It also wasn't like Jake to use a British spelling of  
'favorites' either. It had to be from the doctor. But what was he  
trying to tell him?

The clue suddenly jumped out as he read the message again: pork chops  
in wine. He had said earlier that his mother was a traditional Muslim  
Indian, and traditional Muslims didn't eat pork or consume alcohol. It  
was confirmation that 'Amsha' was a Founder.

He swore under his breath as he deleted the message. Not only did that  
mean they had two Founders (and possibly more) on the station, it also  
meant that his own judgment wasn't as infallible as he had thought. He  
had been convinced that Amsha Bashir was exactly who she said she was.  
And if she was a Founder, anyone could be.

He returned his attention to the discussion.

"-and if the Bajoran infonet authority won't assign a discrete domain  
code for DS9," O'Brien was saying, "this is going to happen again and  
again."

"Chief," Sisko interjected, "given that this is a security matter, I'd  
suggest you speak with someone at the Ministry. We need to separate  
users on the station from those on the planet surface, and a discrete  
code would go a long way to doing that. Major, perhaps you could look  
into a way of installing emergency-only speakers in the Habitat Ring.  
We could also stop using the public address system for every little  
problem."

Odo nodded. "That's why so many residents disconnect the speakers.  
They find it annoying to be awoken for every alert, no matter how  
insignificant or irrelevant to them."

Sisko turned to the imposter. "Doctor, how is the blood screening progressing?"

"Better than I had expected. We've had some problems..."

As the Founder began his report, Sisko watched him, ostensibly because  
he was interested in what he was saying but also because it was the  
first chance he'd had to watch the changeling close-up since he'd  
learned of the switch.

If the safety of his station hadn't been in question he'd have admired  
the fluidity and grace with which the Founder was able to mimic Julian  
Bashir. Now that he observed him closely, though, he realized that the  
impersonation wasn't as perfect as he would have imagined. The  
changeling was slightly more elegant in his movements than Bashir, his  
face more open. More confident, more sure of himself, this 'doctor'  
made his points effectively but sparsely, without digression or  
shyness. It was a portrayal that would naturally influence his  
audience to take him for granted. Ironic, Sisko thought, that the real  
Julian Bashir was the one who acted as if he had something to hide.

As the Founder continued with his report, Sisko wondered why the real  
doctor was so closed off. He'd known people, both when he was younger  
and in Starfleet, who had acted like Bashir, presenting a superficial  
façade but never allowing anyone to see beyond that. Many of them had  
been abused as children. Was that why Bashir had been so surprised to  
learn that his mother was on the station? Was that why he had known  
instantly that the laughing, affectionate woman on the feed wasn't  
her?

"-semi-annual examinations must be done on schedule," the Founder was  
saying as Sisko returned to the conversation. "I don't appreciate  
having to take the time just before a major inspection to complete  
paperwork just because someone doesn't like to be 'poked and  
prodded'."

"It sounds like you've got everything in order, Doctor-" but the  
Founder interrupted him before he could continue.

"There is one more thing," he said. "Mr. Worf, why didn't you report  
that Garak had sustained injuries during the attack on the Defiant?"

Sisko had to admire Worf's sang-froid at the unexpected question. He  
didn't even blink, didn't stammer or make an excuse. He simply said,  
"Mr. Garak's injuries were minor and easily taken care of. I assumed  
he would inform you if any complications arose."

"They were hardly minor!" the shapeshifter replied, a hint of rancor  
in his voice. Sisko wondered why: if he had targeted Garak for some  
reason, he'd hardly care about some cuts and scrapes.

Worf continued to regard the Founder coolly. "He saw to many of them  
himself. The rest I repaired with a dermal regenerator. He required no  
medications or other interventions, to the best of my knowledge." His  
gaze flickered to Sisko's, and the Captain realized that the two of  
them hadn't settled on a story.

"Commander, whenever an accident or injury occurs during an away  
mission, however 'minor'," the imposter said, "an incident report is  
to be immediately filed and I am to be informed. Understood?"

"Certainly doctor. I will file the report at my earliest opportunity."

Sisko held back a smile at Worf's tone of voice. It was obvious to him  
that the Klingon was aching to throw the Founder out an airlock and  
phaser him out of existence, but it was also clear that he was  
controlling himself for the good of the plan.

He turned to Dax and requested her report, his mind still on the  
Founder. Soon, Mr. Worf, he thought: soon.

******

//Sisko to Garak!//

Garak sat up in bed, his body drenched in a cold sweat. He licked his  
lips nervously and fumbled for his comm badge. "G-," he cleared his  
throat. "Garak here."

//I've been trying to rouse you for twenty minutes. The doctor left a  
little while ago. Has he been by to check on you yet?//

"No," Garak said, getting out of bed and heading toward his dresser.  
"I'll be right there."

//I have to stop by my quarters first. Meet me there. Sisko out.//

As he pulled on his uniform hastily, flashes of the familiar nightmare  
flashed before his eyes. He hadn't had one of those since Sek had  
taught him Vulcan meditation techniques more than three years ago.

It had shaken him. It was understandable given what he'd been through  
the last few days, but still...it had seemed so real.

He shook his head to clear it and headed toward the Captain's  
quarters. If they didn't figure out what the Founder was up to, and  
soon, he'd have more than a few nightmares to worry about.

The ghosts of his past would have to wait for their revenge just a  
little while longer.

******

Odo peered through the back window of the deserted Celestial Cafe.  
Most of the civilians who lived on the station had chosen to evacuate;  
although it wasn't strictly necessary during a drill, many of them had  
got into the habit of leaving during drills and emergencies, at least  
when it was possible. The shops and restaurants generally closed down  
at the same time, as their owners didn't consider it worthwhile to  
remain open on a half-deserted station. In Odo's opinion, it was the  
perfect time for a burglar to take advantage of the situation, and he  
had his deputies out in full force.

He was about to check the back entrance of the toyshop when he spotted  
someone standing in the side corridor leading to Cargo Bay 4. He  
entered the narrow passageway only to find himself staring into the  
eyes of the female Founder.

She smiled at him sympathetically. "Odo. How are you?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, shocked. How did she get on board  
the station, and during an emergency drill of all times? He raised his  
hand to tap his comm badge but she extended her own hand and covered  
the badge so he couldn't reach it.

"I'm here to ask you to leave with me," she said. "You'll be in grave  
danger if you remain."

He gave her a puzzled look. "Why would I be in danger?"

She grasped his wrist; he could feel concern, love, but also fear  
through the link. "We only want you to be safe, Odo," she said, her  
cold face belying the emotions flowing under the surface. "Return with  
me. If you remain, I cannot guarantee your safety. No changeling has  
ever harmed another, but you may come to harm if you do not accompany  
me."

"Accompany you? Where?"

"Back to the Great Link." Her eyes flashed as she pleaded with him.  
"Return with me now. Save yourself."

Their eyes met and held for a second; he finally spoke. "This is my  
place. I have duties here."

The female Founder pulled away; before they separated, Odo could sense  
her regret tinged with determination. Whatever threat she was talking  
about was very real. "Very well. Let whatever happens be on your  
head," she said before she slipped down the corridor.

Odo ran down the corridor, following her into the main Promenade, but  
she had disappeared. Looking around he saw to his right a few  
Starfleet officers talking with a Bajoran civilian who hadn't  
evacuated; to his left, Julian's mother was walking towards one of the  
airlocks. "Excuse me," he said to her, "Did you see anyone walk by  
here in the past few seconds?"

She turned back and smiled at him. "I'm afraid not, Constable - Odo,  
is it?" she said before tilting her head in thought. "But now that you  
mention it, I think I did see one of those - what did Jules call them  
\- dabo girls? - run down the hallway. But I only saw her out of the  
corner of my eye. I hope everything's all right?"

"Yes," he said hastily with a quick nod. "If you'll excuse me."

As Mrs. Bashir headed for the airlock, he moved back into the side  
corridor and tapped his comm badge.

******

Garak shook his head to clear it of any remaining tatters of sleep.  
Pushing himself out of bed, he ran his fingers through his hair to  
comb it and stepped towards the door as it opened. He hoped he wasn't  
too late for Sisko's-

-and he was suddenly and violently thrown back into Bashir's quarters  
by some kind of force field.

He groaned, clutching his lower back where he had fallen, then pulled  
himself up and went to get the tricorder he knew Bashir kept in his  
medkit. As he returned with it he aimed it at the door, then frowned  
at the readout. He had been right.

The Founder had placed a force field around the room, a very powerful  
one. Far more than was necessary just to keep him from leaving. It  
also had to be drawing an unusual amount of power, but no alarms had  
gone off in the station and no one had commed him. He was beginning to  
suspect that exhaustion wasn't the only reason he had overslept. The  
Founder intended on keeping him in here from the beginning, but why?  
Did he know that Garak suspected him?

He thought about that for a moment. No, he decided. Julian had seemed,  
if anything, unusually tender toward him earlier. It could have been a  
ruse, but if the Founder wanted to he could have merely drugged him  
and that would have been that. Why then go through the trouble of  
being intimate with him? It didn't make sense.

"Garak to Sisko," he said, tapping his comm badge. He waited. "Garak  
to Sisko." Nothing. "Garak to Worf." Again, silence. He hesitated for  
a moment, then said: "Garak to Bashir."

//Are you feeling all right, Garak?//

Garak felt his jaw drop slightly, then cleared his throat. "You put a  
force field around the room."

//Just stay where you are, my love. You'll be safe, I promise.//

"Julian, what's going on?"

There was a pause. //I wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn't. I  
know...I know this is confusing, but I'm doing everything I can to see  
to it that you are kept safe. Just know that no matter what happens,  
whatever you see out there, you'll be all right. Trust me. Don't try  
to damage the field; I removed all weapons from the room earlier and  
you won't run out of oxygen even after the environmentals go offline.  
I'm doing this for your own good.//

Damn. "Julian, if something is wrong then let me help you. Let me out  
and I'll find you and you can explain everything to me in person."

Another pause. //You know, don't you?// He hesitated. //You know and  
you made love to me anyway.//

"Julian..." Garak began.

//No, Garak, this is good. This is excellent.// He sounded almost  
giddy. //Look, I know this is confusing and you must be angry, but  
some part of you also knows I'm right, that what I'm doing is for the  
best. Just - stay where you are. Go back to sleep. I'll be  
transporting you off the station soon, but it's too dangerous out here  
for me to allow you to wander around. I'm cutting the comms now. I  
love you.//

"Julian? Garak to Dr. Bashir." Nothing. "Damn it!" Garak said angrily.

He was trapped, and he had no way of warning the captain that whatever  
the Founders were planning, it was happening now.

******

Bashir had just replicated himself a cup of Tarkalean tea and sat down  
at the dining room table when Sisko and Worf arrived. "Don't get up,"  
the Captain said as he and Worf took seats at the table. "I received  
your message. You're sure that woman isn't your mother?"

Bashir didn't answer, but instead reached for the tricorder and the  
vials he'd replicated earlier. "Before we discuss anything," he said,  
"I'd like to confirm our identities. No, Commander," he said quickly  
as Worf reached for his knife, "I'd rather use the aspirator and the  
tricorder. If a Founder can create bodily fluids, they can create  
something that looks like blood."

"I had not thought of that," Worf said, chastened.

"It's probably how the changeling who impersonated Martok passed," Sisko said.

Bashir drew a sample from Worf then did the same from both Sisko and  
himself, showing the results to both of them after the tricorder had  
completed its scan. "We check out. As for your question, sir," he  
said, turning to Sisko, "I'm absolutely certain that the woman I saw  
isn't my mother. It's not just the clothing she wore or the food she  
ate, either. I saw on the security recordings that she allowed you to  
touch her. My mother would never let a man do that, at least not one  
she wasn't related to."

Worf frowned, his gaze shifting from Sisko to Bashir and back. "You  
believe there is another changeling on the station impersonating your  
mother."

"I'm sure of it," Bashir replied. "Captain," he asked, his gaze  
flickering to the door, "I thought Garak was supposed to meet us  
here."

"I just commed him a few minutes ago. Maybe he ran into the Founder  
again; I believe it was on its way to meet him. By the way, how did  
you know that the Founder could produce bodily fluids?"

He flushed. "I, um...I was going through the live feeds and I saw the  
two of them. Garak and the Founder," he said as he stared down into  
his tea, unable to meet Sisko's eyes. "I don't want to be graphic,  
sir, but from what I saw, if the bodily fluids the Founder produced  
didn't seem real, Garak would know."

"My God." Sisko brought his hands to his face. "I don't know if I  
should be court-martialed for prostituting him or for trusting him."

"Captain, in my opinion Mr. Garak is entirely trustworthy in this  
matter," Worf interjected. "He has been dishonored by this Founder,  
and I am certain he will do what is necessary to complete the mission,  
even if that involves...keeping up a facade..."

Sisko nodded sharply. "Very well. Mr. Worf," he said, "I'd like a  
report of everything that happened from the time you first met up with  
the Jem'Hadar until your arrival back at the station."

As Worf described the events that had transpired, his narration  
interrupted from time to time by Sisko's astute questions, Bashir  
watched the two men silently. It was funny, he thought: Garak had more  
in common with Worf than Bashir had earlier realized. They were both  
loyal to those they loved (although they were both more loyal to the  
state), pragmatic, sensible, willing to kill on a moment's notice if  
necessary. But he could also see those same qualities in Sisko.

"Doctor," Sisko said, interrupting his reverie, "can you tell me-"

//Odo to Sisko.//

The captain tapped his comm badge. "Sisko here."

"Captain, I've just seen the female Founder on the station. She asked  
me to leave with her, saying that I would be in danger if I remained.  
I tried to follow her but she disappeared."

The three of them shared a look. "Understood, Constable. Is Dr. Bashir there?"

Odo sounded slightly confused. //No...but I did just see his mother  
heading for one of the airlocks. She said she saw a 'dabo girl'  
running down the corridor."

Sisko swore under his breath. "Constable," he said, "if you can, stop  
Mrs. Bashir before she has a chance to leave the station. If she's  
already departed, take a runabout, follow her ship, and bring her  
back. On the double, Constable."

//Aye, sir.// Odo signed off, his voice as unsure as Sisko felt.

Bashir sat up. "No changeling has ever harmed another. Captain..."

But Sisko was already rising from his seat. "Gentlemen, I believe it's  
time to bring this to a conclusion." He tapped his comm badge. "Sisko  
to Garak."

No response.

"Sisko to Garak, come in." The Captain tapped his badge again. "Sisko to Ops."

//Ops here,// Kira replied.

"Major, go to red alert. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a  
drill. No ships are to be allowed in or out-"

The lights suddenly dimmed; Bashir felt himself rise from the ground  
as the station's gravitational field weakened for a moment.

//...problems...going to red...all hands...// he heard Kira say, but  
by then the three of them were headed out the door.

"Where are we going?" Bashir said, jogging beside Worf and Sisko as  
they entered the Promenade.

Sisko stopped for a moment as the floor shook. "Mr. Worf and I need to  
get to Ops and regain control of the electrical system. Doctor, the  
last time I spoke with Mr. Garak he was in your quarters. I could  
barely wake him." He suddenly frowned at Bashir. "Could he have been  
sedated?"

"I saw the Founder give him a hypospray," he said. "It's possible. Do  
you want me to check on him?"

"You had better." Sisko brought a hand up to his forehead. "Whatever  
you find, report back to me immediately."

He nodded and left them, retracing his steps back to the Habitat Ring  
and, not trusting the turbolifts, taking the stairs down to his level.  
He ducked into a narrow pathway as someone approached.

It was the Founder.

He waited for it to pass, then began to follow it.

******


	11. The Destroyer

Chapter Eleven: The Destroyer

******

Garak tore the panel off the wall, but it was no use. However the  
Founder had rigged the field, he couldn't access it from his side of  
the door. He looked into the hallway and saw Julian jogging toward  
him, his phaser in hand.

"Julian?" he called. "Is that you, Dr. Bashir?"

"It's me," he confirmed, looking behind him. "I saw the Founder coming  
from this direction. All the systems on the station are going haywire  
and the comms are down. We need to find him, now."

"I'm behind a force field. I don't have a weapon or way to deactivate  
it from this side."

"Stand back," the doctor ordered. As Garak obeyed, he leveled his  
phaser at the door controls and aimed an intense beam at the field  
until it flickered, then died. "Try it now."

Garak stepped through the field uncertainly, then stumbled. Bashir  
caught his arm. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said, shaking his head to clear it. "I think I was sedated."

Julian reached for his face as if to check his pupils and Garak caught  
his wrist firmly and said, "I said I'm fine."

Something flickered in the other man's eyes before he nodded and  
dropped his hand. "The Founder headed for the turbolifts. I think he's  
headed for the lower pylons. Like I said before, power is fluctuating  
all over the station, so if we want to risk taking a lift down we need  
to take the one he used and go quickly before we lose him."

Garak thought about taking the Jefferies tubes down but knew it would  
take hours to get that far down. Unlike the Habitat Ring, there were  
no stairwells in the central core. "You're right, let's go."

They got to the lifts; Julian ordered the computer to take them to the  
lower pylons with an override so that they couldn't be stopped along  
the way. "Just in case," he muttered.

Garak opened the emergency panel in the lift and pulled out two  
flashlights, handing one to the doctor; when the doors opened, Garak  
stepped out into the corridor and paused.

"What is it? Do you see something?" Bashir asked, looking around.

"No," Garak croaked out then cleared his throat. "No, it's just that  
I've been here before." When his companion gave him a blank look he  
explained. "This is where Jul - the Founder and I caught Colonel  
Ranol."

"On your first 'date'," Julian said wryly. "Right. I remember you  
mentioning that."

"It was our third date, actually," Garak said, then cursed himself and  
began to walk toward the loading docks. "I'm sorry, doctor. I  
apologize. I think the sedative your counterpart administered to me is  
still in my system. I didn't mean to..."

"That's all right," Julian said quietly. "You really love him, don't  
you? Still, I mean."

He didn't say anything, he just kept his eyes focused straight ahead.

"Garak..."

"Doctor, I don't want to discuss this with you, especially not right  
now. We have more important things to worry about than my stupidity  
and your embarrassment," Garak gritted out. "Now, do you want to split  
up or-"

Bashir laid his hand on Garak's arm then stepped forward. He boldly  
pressed his hand on Garak's cheek and said, "I'm not embarrassed,  
Garak."

"Doctor-"

The human stepped closer, his mouth almost touching the other man's,  
then asked, "I just need to know one thing; was it me you fell in love  
with or the Founder?"

Garak felt the fog melt in his brain and for a moment he swayed closer  
to those full, soft lips, but then instinct kicked in and he shoved  
the doctor away from him roughly. He turned his back on his companion  
and ran a shaking hand over his mouth. "Stay away from me."

"Garak, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push-"

"I should have known," Garak said roughly without looking at him. "I  
should have known he wasn't really you."

"You couldn't have," Julian said, his voice filled with tenderness.  
"No one knew."

"I should have known," Garak continued, ignoring what the doctor was  
saying as he turned he angry gaze upon the other man, "because unlike  
you, he actually possesses a soul."

"Garak-"

Garak's hand sliced through the air in a chopping gesture as if to  
silence him. "You are like some kind of soulless machine, do you know  
that? You flit through life expecting everyone to just stop whatever  
they're doing and listen in awe to whatever you have to say. Even  
Vulcans have more passion than you! Do you honestly think I could just  
forget? Throw the last few months away so you could satisfy some gross  
curiosity? I'm not that shallow, doctor. I'm not you! I don't just  
shed my skin and walk into another life whenever I feel like it. I had  
a life, a full and wonderful life for nearly four months with that  
Julian Bashir - I had a home and we were going to have a family! Part  
of me wishes that-" He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the bridge  
of his nose as if his head throbbed. "To answer your question, doctor;  
no, I did not fall in love with Julian Bashir, because there never was  
a Julian Bashir to love." He made a disgusted sound in his throat.  
"When they engineered you, they should have spent more time trying to  
make you into a real person instead of a damned robot!"

"Garak, listen to me! Let me explain-" the doctor began.

"You son of a bitch!" From the shadows a figure launched itself at the  
doctor, his phaser skidding across the metal floor towards Garak as  
the two men fought. They were identical in every way. Both tall and  
unbearably thin, both dark haired and tan, and both wearing identical  
uniforms.

But only one of them was Julian Bashir.

For a moment, Garak just stood there, watching the bizarre scene  
unfold before his eyes. Two bodies, both alike in every detail, rolled  
together on the floor, fists meeting flesh and muscle straining  
against like muscle. Grunts, the gross slapping of flesh, sweat and  
blood pouring off identical faces; the sight was almost mesmerizing.  
Never one to indulge in the theories of psychology, he nonetheless had  
the fleeting thought that ego was embattled with id. He was seeing  
Julian Bashir's inner demons made flesh.

"Enough!" Garak shouted, leveling his weapon toward them both.

"Shoot him!" one of the doctors shouted, pointing to his counterpart.  
"He's the Founder! Shoot the goddamn thing!"

"And how do I know you aren't the shapeshifter?" Garak asked calmly.  
"How do I know which of you is the real Julian Bashir? You're both  
bleeding, so obviously that doesn't tell me anything, does it?"

The man who had spoken touched his face in surprise and looked at his  
hand. The gash above his eye was bleeding steadily. "I'm telling you  
the truth - I'm the real Julian Bashir."

Garak looked at the other doctor who was wiping the blood off his lip  
with the back of his hand. "And you? I suppose you're the real Dr.  
Bashir as well?"

He smiled slightly and glanced over to his counterpart. "No. I'm the  
Founder. He's Julian Bashir."

Julian gaped at his doppelganger in surprise then said, "You heard him! Shoot!"

But Garak remained still, his expression calm as he continued to level  
his weapon at them both.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Kill it!" Bashir shouted. "Goddamn  
you, Garak! I'm ordering you to fire your weapon!"

"He won't kill me, doctor," the Founder said, still looking at Garak  
calmly. "He can't. He loves me too much, and he knows I love him."

"You bastard!" Bashir ground out as he started for the Founder again.

"Stay where you are, doctor," Garak ordered.

He turned and looked at Garak in stark disbelief. "He's right? You're  
on that thing's side? After all we've been through you're going to  
choose to be with that monster?!? After what he did to you?"

"Of course he is," the Founder said softly. "He knows I only did what  
I had to do. We understand each other because he's just like me.  
Aren't you, Garak?"

For a moment, the Cardassian hesitated, then he held out the phaser to  
the Founder and waited.

"You traitor! You sold out your own people! I will kill you, I swear  
to God I will! Damn you, Garak!" Bashir shouted in outrage as the  
Founder took the weapon and moved to stand next to the Cardassian.

The Founder gave Garak one last tender look before leveling the weapon  
at Julian Bashir.

"Now, let's move along, doctor. We have a schedule to keep," the  
Founder said with a triumphant smile as he herded his mirror image  
down the corridor.

******

Garak watched Bashir enter Auxiliary Control, his hands on his head as  
the Founder pressed the phaser into his flank.

"Tie him down," the Founder said, throwing Garak some loose wires and  
nodding towards a chair at the back of the small space. As Garak  
pushed a seething Bashir into the chair and secured his arms, the  
Founder pulled a lump of bright metal out of his pocket and held it up  
to the main phaser control. The lump rose from his hand and floated in  
the air for just a second before splitting into three parts and  
melting into the panel.

The station suddenly shook violently as a sharp hum echoed from every direction.

"What are you doing?" Garak asked in wonder.

The Founder ignored him as he reached up and threw one of the enormous  
switches located near the top of the control. "It's done," he said,  
turning to Garak. "Is the prisoner secure?"

Bashir glared at Garak. "When this is over, I swear I'll see you stand  
before a military tribunal!" he hissed. "Sisko and Worf are going to  
find us and when they do-"

The Founder's voice cut in. "They aren't coming," he said. "I erected  
force fields on every floor, both in the main corridors and in the  
Jefferies tubes. Your death is inevitable, Doctor."

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Julian asked angrily.

"To protect my people. Surely you understand that, Doctor?" the  
Founder asked, his voice strangely mild. "Your people stumbled on our  
home and disturbed the Link. You're the ones who harmed us first. If  
we don't stop you now, your chaos will spill over into our world and  
destroy everything we've spent the last several millennia creating."

"We didn't mean to hurt anything! We haven't done anything wrong!"  
Bashir insisted. "This is cold-blooded murder: don't you see that? You  
can't destroy an entire station full of people for-"

"I can and I will," the Founder said simply. "And not just this  
station either. I'm going to destroy Bajor's sun using the station's  
sensor array. Bajor, all of its moons, this station and everything  
else within this solar system will be destroyed." The gentle smile on  
his face belied his chilling words.

"You're going to destroy Bajor?" Garak asked, his eyes meeting the Founder's.

"I'm sorry. It's the only way," he said, caressing Garak's cheek with  
a soft hand. "I tried to convince the others differently, but they  
said you had to pay for what you had done."

"What I did?" Garak asked, then realization dawned. "This is for when  
I tried to destroy the Founders' homeworld, isn't it?"

"In our legends," he said, an eye on the sensor control, "there is a  
story of two beings: The Bringer and the Destroyer. The Bringer will  
unite the ones born into righteousness with the ones lost to the air.  
The Destroyer will come to cause discord amongst the living sea. My  
people say you are the Destroyer, Garak."

Garak opened his mouth to speak, but the Founder laid a finger across his lips.

"This is insane!" Bashir cried out, but the Founder ignored him.

"I told them it wasn't true," he said to Garak. "I told them that you  
didn't know what you were doing but they said that ignorance is no  
excuse. Bajor must die in order to bring the Federation here. You will  
be blamed for its destruction and Cardassia will be targeted for  
revenge. When the Federation fleet arrives, there will be a great war  
which will weaken both sides, and when the dust settles the Dominion  
will claim the Alpha Quadrant as its own and lead your worlds into  
order."

"You are going to kill billions of people for something I have done?"  
Garak asked, horrified.

He smiled sadly. "Don't think of it in those terms, Garak. I know it  
seems overwhelming now, but you'll soon see how wonderful it will be  
when the Dominion has brought order into this chaos. Yes, lives will  
be lost, but they would have died eventually anyway. This is a far  
nobler death we are giving them. They are dying so that their worlds  
may be reborn."

"You sick bastard!" Bashir burst out. "How can you even justify the  
murder of billions of people like that?!?"

"The same way your Federation justified the genocide of my people,  
doctor," he replied smoothly.

"But they didn't! Garak was convicted of attempted genocide for what  
he tried to do!" the doctor argued.

"Oh yes," the Founder said with a harsh chuckle. "And he served what?  
Six months in Odo's brig? He wasn't convicted for attempting to  
destroy our homeworld, Doctor. He was convicted because he failed." He  
shook his head in grim amusement. "And who do you suppose ordered him  
to do it?"

"Cardassia," Bashir cried. "Or at least-"

"Oh no, doctor," the Founder said, interrupting. "No, I've read your  
personal logs and I've lived in your shoes long enough to know that  
despite what you would have everyone believe, you aren't that naive."  
His gaze switched back to Garak for a second before resting again on  
Bashir. "A covert group operating within your Federation known only as  
Section 31 was behind the 'intelligence' Garak received."

Garak stared at him. "31 was - but..."

The Founder rested his hand on Garak's shoulder possessively. "A 31  
agent impersonated Tain's successor in his private intelligence  
agency. Their plan was to have you destroy the Founder homeworld. That  
way there would be no evidence that the Federation had a hand in  
genocide. They could still hold their heads high and show the universe  
how noble and civilized they were while you sacrificed your life for  
nothing. What's more, any retribution by the Vorta or any remaining  
Founders would have been directed against Cardassia, not the  
Federation." He looked deeply into Garak's eyes. "We are not the only  
ones who slip into the skins of our targets. These dedicated officers  
of the Federation are far more devious then they would have you  
believe. Now do you see what they really are? Cowards and murderers  
who wear the guise of justice but inside, they are corrupt. We are not  
the enemy."

"I don't believe you." Bashir said, but his expression seemed less  
certain than the tone of his voice. "How could you even know if that  
was true?"

We are the Dominion, doctor," the Founder said, and in those words he  
appeared larger than life, as if he had become his people. "We are  
everywhere. Our people are scattered to the four winds, but we are  
still one. There is very little we do not know. That is what intrigued  
me about you, Garak." He turned back to the Cardassian. "You are both  
an open book and an enigma. You have no idea how honored I was to hear  
you tell me your secrets, one by one. I knew many of them already, of  
course, but to hear you say them - to know what it meant to you to  
tell me: that is what made me realize that I truly loved you." He  
looked at Bashir, whose eyes had widened in shock. "Oh, yes, doctor.  
He's told me many of his secrets and has promised to tell me all of  
them, one for every year of our union. And he will."

Bashir gaped at him. "You can't mean that-"

"I do," the Founder said, his face seemingly sympathetic. "I'm afraid,  
though, that you won't be there to hear them with me."

"You're a monster! Garak, can't you see what he is? That he's only  
using you?" Julian asked as he struggled against his bonds.

The Founder turned on Bashir as a shower of sparks burst from one of  
the sensor panels. "I'm not using Garak, Dr. Bashir," he snarled. "You  
were, and you still are."

"What?"

"You flirted with him and led him on, but you could never follow  
through, could you? You're just another Federation coward, playing him  
as if he were a toy and not a real, vital man. You could have had him:  
I did. All you saw was the spy who could break you if he ever  
discovered your enhancements. You never allowed yourself to trust  
him."

Bashir's mouth dropped open. "My..."

"And do you know the most ironic part of it all, Doctor?" the Founder  
continued. "He already knew. He knew you were enhanced and he didn't  
care." He looked up at Garak. "You see why I chose Bashir, Garak: he  
loves you, but he was never going to allow himself to show you. Not  
like me."

"Julian," Garak said to the Founder, but he was interrupted by a furious Bashir.

"DON'T CALL THAT THING BY MY NAME!" he yelled. "That THING is not me!"

The Founder looked at Garak almost helplessly. "I'm sorry. I wasn't  
trying to hurt him. I was just trying to explain..."

"I know," Garak said, reaching out his hand to the Founder, who took  
it and pressed it against his cheek. "I have questions as well."

"You both make me sick!" Bashir growled. "I'd rather you just shoot me  
than watch this...display you're putting on!"

They ignored him.

"I know you do, my sweet," the Founder said, smiling as the lights  
dimmed again. "It's almost time. In another few minutes we'll be  
leaving for our new  
home."

"Where are we going?" Garak asked, watching the lights as the hum grew louder.

"Anywhere you like. Anywhere warm." He gave Garak a sweet,  
heart-rending smile that tore at the Cardassian. "There are a thousand  
worlds for us to choose from and Founder medical technology is quite  
advanced. I can't give you immortality, my love, but I can give you a  
century or so of passion and happiness with me."

"And the children?" Garak asked.

Suddenly the Founder seemed less certain than before. "There can be  
children if you like. As many as you want. We have many worlds, many  
species to choose from. You can be a father to our own children even.  
There is cloning, or if this form doesn't please you, I can change and  
become female, carry the children myself." He looked down at himself.  
"Anything is possible."

"Is that possible? Can you bear humanoid children?" Garak asked, his  
eyes sharp as he looked at the Founder. "The semen, the blood - is  
that a part of it?"

"None of my kind has ever tried, but it may be possible," he said  
slowly. "But I promise you, you can have all the children you want."

Garak's voice was low. "Does that include Kela and Lewin?"

"Kela and-" The Founder looked down while Bashir glared at him with an  
icy stare.

"Go on and tell him, you fucking monster!" the doctor shouted. "Tell  
him that along with me and everyone else on this station and on Bajor,  
you're going to kill those two children whose only sin was to love  
you!"

"I - I...Garak..." The Founder dropped his head and shuffled his feet  
slightly, fumbling for his words.

"We can save them, can't we?" Garak asked again. "We have time."

"I would, but..." The Founder's voice trailed off. "Garak, you have to  
understand: I only serve the will of the Link. I had to plead with  
them just to spare you. If I tried to save the children now..."

"What, you'd be expelled for saving two innocent children?" Bashir spat out.

Garak gave him a severe look before turning to the Founder. "Is there  
time, though?" he asked. "Can we stop it just long enough to beam the  
children onto your ship?"

The Founder started for one of the junction boxes then stopped. "No,"  
he said, turning back to Garak. "We can't. It's too risky."

"Then we can slow it down? Leave now so that the children can come with us?"

The Founder's eyes widened and he bit his lip in an all too human  
gesture of helplessness. "Please Garak, I'll try, but I didn't - I  
never thought-"

Garak's gaze pierced him. "You were going to kill them too." It wasn't  
a question.

"Of course he was!" Bashir snarled. "You idiot, look at him! Do you  
really think that - thing loves you? It's incapable of loving  
anything!"

"And you are, doctor?" the Founder snapped. "It took me all of six  
days to get Garak into my bed! Within a month we were in love and  
planning our lives together! You had five years and you did nothing!"

Bashir struggled against his bonds. "You never had anything! It wasn't  
actually you he let seduce him, remember? He's never actually seen  
what YOU look like. He doesn't love you: he loves some idealized  
version of me!"

"That's not true-"

"It's just eating you up inside, isn't it?" Bashir continued  
relentlessly. "Do you even have a name? Do you even know what you look  
like anymore? Or have you been me for so long now that you can't  
remember who and what you really are?"

Garak turned to the Founder. "What is your name? Do you even have one?"

The Founder looked at the two of them, then dropped his head. "I...we  
don't have names in the Link."

"Then who are you?" Garak asked.

"I'm - I'm Julian, you know that..."

"You're Julian?"

"You've gone completely mad." Bashir's voice was as cold as ice.  
"You're so lost you can't even remember that you aren't the real  
Julian Bashir any more!"

Anger surged into the Founder's face. "I'm as much Julian Bashir as  
you are, 'Doctor'." He spat the last word out. "You're really Jules,  
aren't you? Jules Bashir, the stupid little boy who couldn't tell a  
tree from a house. Is that why you never allowed yourself to love  
Garak? Because you KNEW you were a fraud?" He snorted. "And there you  
sit, a noble Federation officer, telling me I don't know who I am?"

"Enough!" Garak said, his face nearly black with anger.

The Founder looked up at him in shock. "I..."

"If we're going to go, I need to know exactly what you intend to do,"  
Garak said, his face a granite slab. "You may be a talented healer,  
but I don't quite trust your engineering skills. I need to be certain  
that we're getting out of here." He kept his gaze locked on the  
Founder's face, knowing that even a glance towards the real Bashir  
could be mistaken.

The Founder nodded. "I've turned the sensor array into a particle  
emitter. Once the concentrated particle beam reaches the core of the  
sun, it will cause an overload that will force the sun to explode.  
We'll have ten minutes before the shock wave reaches Bajor, but we  
have to leave before then if we want to escape."

"And the charge is building up?"

He nodded. "Garak, we only have a few minutes left. We have to leave now."

Garak gave the Founder one last wistful look, then shook his head. "I can't."

"What?" The Founder's smile began to fade. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I have to stay."

"You can't stay! You'll be killed!"

Garak stepped forward and cupped the Founder's cheek lovingly. "You  
know me. Would I sacrifice Kela and Lewin in order to live with you?"

"But - but I told you I'd try to save them! We'll go now!"

"You know as well as I do it's too late," Garak said sadly.

"My ship is fast..."

"Julian," Garak breathed as he kissed him softly. "Please. I need you  
to do one last thing for me, please."

"Garak-" the Founder cried. "I want-"

"Please." He looked down at the phaser in the Founder's hand. "Kill  
me. Let your face be the last thing I see."

"No! Garak, don't do this! Grab the phaser - kill it!" Bashir shouted.

"Please," Garak repeated, standing silently between the Founder and Bashir.

The Founder raised the phaser and pointed it at Garak reluctantly.

"I love you," Garak said, just as the Founder squeezed the trigger.

For a split second nothing happened. The Founder stared at him,  
puzzled, but suddenly the phaser exploded in a massive power surge.  
"NO!"

He fell back into the phaser array panel as he melted, the golden  
liquid shot through with crimson bolts of pulsating energy. Garak  
threw himself backwards on top of Bashir as the panel burst into  
flames.

When he arose, there was nothing left of the Founder but a burn  
embedded in the metal wall.

He raced to the sensor array controls, pulling down the massive switch  
the Founder had set before reaching back and yanking out great chunks  
of wire. The panel exploded; hot sparks burned through the skin of his  
hands and face while hydraulic acid shot out and sizzled against his  
skin.

The array went dark just for a second; he heard Bashir screaming and  
calling out to him before the array tore itself apart in a massive  
explosion.

******

"Garak!"

Pain. "Hurts."

"I know. Shit!" The doctor looked at the Cardassian's hands and  
winced. "Garak, I have to get some help. The comm system is still down  
and you need to be transported to the Infirmary."

"No," Garak said in a rough voice, looking up at Bashir's face.

"I know you're in shock, but you're hurt badly. Your hands-"

"Don't go," Garak whispered. "Stay."

"I have to go, Garak! You could-" Bashir began.

//-isko -o-Ba-ir// The captain's voice crackled over his comm badge,  
cutting him off.

"Captain?" Bashir slapped his badge. "I have a medical emergency in  
Auxiliary Control! I need an emergency transport for both Mr. Garak  
and myself!"

//Trying. Hang on! Help-// Then there was static, followed by silence.

"Dammit! Garak, stay with me. We're getting out of here soon, okay?"

"You're bleeding," Garak said weakly, looking at his wrists.

"I broke my wrist when I pulled it free from the bonds," he said.  
"I'll be fine, it'll heal."

The room began to fade away. "I'm sorry," he got out, but...

"No, Garak! You have to keep talking to me!" Bashir ordered as Garak  
felt a hand pat his cheek; he opened his eyes again to see the  
doctor's worried face. "Come on, that's right. Now, keep talking to  
me."

He coughed harshly. "What..."

"It's okay; you probably just broke a few ribs," Bashir said with a  
calm smile. "Now breathe. I know it hurts, but just breathe in and  
out...that's good. You're doing good."

"What do you...want me to...say?" Garak asked slowly as he forced the  
air in and out of his sore lungs.

"Did you know from the beginning that you were talking to the  
Founder?" he asked, checking his pulse and frowning as he counted the  
beats.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Moved different." He shivered. "Cold."

"You're in shock, just keep talking." Bashir took off his jacket and  
covered the Cardassian with it. "How did he move differently? Tell  
me."

"Like..." Garak began to fade out.

"No, Garak! Stay awake!" Bashir ordered, slapping his cheeks lightly.  
"Open those-that's it! He moved like...?"

"Like he was swimming through air. So beautiful." Garak smiled as he  
felt his muscles relax. It would be so easy to...

"No, you don't!" Bashir's angry voice intruded. "You owe me! I swear  
if you die on me, I'll-!"

"Too graceful," Garak murmured, his vision becoming more focused  
again. "He moved like he wasn't human."

"If you could tell that now, why couldn't you see that three months  
ago?" Bashir asked, his voice more serious than Garak would have  
expected.

It was so cold..."Didn't....want to. I'm so sorry."

"No Garak, you didn't do anything wrong," he said soothingly. "You  
were a victim in this, just like me. I'm the one who needs to  
apologize. I said some very awful things to you and-"

"No," Garak said, touching the doctor's lips with his burned fingers.  
"No more apologies. Not now."

"All right, no more apologies." Bashir's eyes were bright with unshed  
tears. "Do you want to know what pissed me off the most about this  
whole thing?" he asked. "That son of a bitch got you into his bed in  
days and all I ever got after five years of putting up with you was a  
reading list and a fondness for Cardassian food."

"Not saying much," he rasped. "You like gagh, too."

"True," the doctor whispered as he stroked his cheek. "Dammit, why  
didn't I just...why did I think you were so..."

But Garak couldn't see him any more. "I'm dying," he moaned.

"No, you aren't!" the doctor insisted. "Any minute now-"

"Can we...pretend?"

"Pretend what? What are you talking about?"

"Pretend...pretend it was real."

Bashir gasped. "Pretend what? That I'm the Founder?"

"No. That he was...you..." His eyes fluttered closed as the cold...

"NO! Don't you DARE-"

He startled awake. "Julian."

"That's right. It's me, Julian," Bashir choked out.

"You looked so handsome the first time...in the Replimat," Garak all  
but whispered, his mind spiraling back to that first day. "It was a  
game. I was just...playing a game."

"I know, I figured that out," Bashir said. As he spoke, Garak felt hot  
splashes of liquid on his skin. Julian was crying. "Made an arse of  
myself in Ops afterwards. I'd like to never live that down, by the  
way."

"You were so..." and Garak frowned, "irritating."

"Still am, according to the Chief."

"You got under my skin." Garak continued, ignoring the young man's  
self-deprecating remark. "I fell...in love with you...and didn't want  
to. I just wanted to." He frowned. "I should have known better. You  
couldn't love...me. You're too..."

"Too what? Too stupid? Too incredibly blind? What?"

"Good," Garak said softly. "You're everything I ever...loved and more,  
but...it's too late now. Too late..." Garak said as he began to drift  
away.

"No! Wake up!" he heard Bashir shout at the edge of his consciousness.  
"Damn you, this isn't fucking fair! Ops!" He heard the sound of a comm  
badge being smacked. "I need an emergency transport now! Goddamn it,  
will somebody give me a fucking break already!?!"

It was just as his pulse began to slow to a near stop that he smelled  
that familiar scent of static and ozone as the transporter took them.

******

Bashir looked over at Garak, who was lying motionless on the biobed.  
"How's he doing?"

"Well, between the two of you he's worse off, but you managed to break  
your wrist pretty badly," Okuna said with a smile. "He'll be fine  
though, I think."

"I should go double-check, just to be sure." He started to get off the  
bed when Sisko stopped him.

"First finish telling us what happened, doctor," he said. "I'm sure  
Dr. Okuna has everything in hand."

Bashir looked at the captain and Admiral Gilhouly and nodded.  
"Apparently the Founder's plan was to use the station's sensor array  
to focus an intense particle beam at Bajor's sun and cause it to go  
supernova, wiping out this entire solar system."

The Admiral nodded. "My Chief Engineer is working with your Mr.  
O'Brien on dismantling the damned thing now. From the reports we've  
been getting the Founder was incredibly clever with how he did it."

"We'd been having random power fluctuations for weeks, nothing too out  
of the ordinary," Sisko replied as he turned to the doctor. "The  
Founder had our engineering and maintenance crews chasing their tails  
tracking down what looked like everything from voles eating through  
wiring to compatibility problems with some of the new systems we've  
been trying to install. He must have been adding to it slowly over  
several months, just a little at a time. Luckily, now that we know  
exactly what he was planning they've dismantled most of it."

"But what was the point? Why Bajor?" the Admiral asked.

"It wasn't Bajor, not really," Bashir said. "It was Garak and....us."

"Us?" Sisko asked.

"The Federation." He took a breath. "The Founder claimed that a covert  
group operating within the Federation called Section 31 was  
responsible for leaking information to Garak about the Founder  
homeworld. They claim that our people were the ones who conspired to  
commit genocide against the Founders. The Dominion's retribution was  
to make Garak appear responsible for destroying Bajor, supposedly on  
orders from Cardassia. The Federation would then consider it an act of  
war and launch an attack. After both sides had been weakened, the  
Dominion would send in their ships and clear the field, leaving the  
Alpha Quadrant wide open."

"That's one hell of a plan," Gilhouly said.

"Captain, is there any truth to the shapeshifter's claim about this  
Section 31?" the doctor asked.

"Admiral?"

Gilhouly turned to Sisko and said, "If there is a Section 31, I  
certainly have never heard of them. I'm fairly sure it was just some  
disinformation the shapeshifter was passing on."

Julian frowned. "But why-"

"Did the Founder say why he had picked you, doctor?" the Admiral  
asked, cutting him off. "I mean, of all of the senior staff you're not  
the one I would have picked if I were a Founder. I would have gone for  
the Chief or Ben here. Why you?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "It didn't really say. If I had to guess, it  
would be because of the blood screenings."

"And why frame Garak for the whole thing? Because he's Cardassian?"  
Gilhouly asked.

"I can answer that," Sisko said, frowning. "A year or so ago, Garak  
tried to destroy the Founder's homeworld in an attempt to stop them  
from infiltrating the Alpha Quadrant." He shook his head. "God help  
me, but I really don't know how to feel about that any more, given  
recent events."

"It's a double edged sword, Ben." Gilhouly patted him on the back. "If  
he had succeeded, it would have been the destruction of an entire  
people, and that's unacceptable. On the other hand, it would have  
saved us a lot of trouble." He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, now  
does it? They're here now and were here before Mr. Garak made the  
attempt. The fact that he led an attack is just an excuse they're  
using to do what they would have done anyway." He turned back to  
Bashir. "How did it manage to fake the blood and other bodily fluids?"

"Until I do further tests, I can't say for certain, but the fact that  
Odo was transformed into a human for a while is very telling," Julian  
replied. "My best theory is that before the Founders evolved into a  
liquid state, they were solids like us. They still have the ability to  
transform into fully-realized humanoids with only subtle DNA markers  
to differentiate them from the species they're mimicking. Becoming  
fully humanoid is very physically and mentally wearing on them,  
however. It explains why the Founder's behavior became so erratic at  
the end. Also, I suspect that not all changelings can transform back  
and forth with that level of skill. Odo was only able to do so when  
the other Founders forced him into it. I'll have to do some tests with  
Odo's permission, but it would explain how the Founder who  
impersonated General Martok was also able to bleed convincingly." He  
stopped. "Speaking of the General..."

"He's on his way up to the station now along with the two Romulans,"  
Sisko said with a satisfied grin. "The one good thing that came from  
this is that Martok has spoken with his government and they've agreed  
to a sit-down with us. The Romulans also seem more agreeable to a  
peace summit given that the Dominion threat has proven itself to be  
far greater than we first believed. Who knows: the Founders may have  
succeeded in building a bridge to lasting peace between our peoples."

"I'm certain it was unintentional, sir," Bashir said ruefully.

Gilhouly looked out the Infirmary door. "Well, Ben," he said, "I guess  
that's enough for now, don't you think?"

"I still have questions but nothing that can't wait. Julian, get some  
rest. There are still a few things we need to go over later, so when  
you get a chance I'd like a full report on my desk."

"Aye, sir."

After the captain and the admiral left, Julian got up from his bed and  
walked over to Garak's sleeping form. The biobed was doing its job,  
keeping him in a light coma and comfortable while it healed his many  
burns and cuts from the explosion. His hands had suffered the worst of  
it. He reached out to touch the sleeping Cardassian's fingers, which  
were still shiny from the dermal regeneration.

"He'll be okay, Dr. Bashir."

Julian started a little then looked up. "Oh, Dr. Okuna! I thought you  
went to dinner."

"And leave my favorite patient?" Okuna said, looking down at Garak.  
"He's something else, isn't he?"

Julian frowned. "I wasn't aware you two had spent a lot of time together."

"Oh yeah, don't you remember-" He stopped then shook his head. "This  
is going to take a lot of getting used to, sorry. Back a few months  
ago Garak went undercover as a prylar to catch a killer. I did his  
surgery."

"Garak was disguised as a monk?" Julian asked, his jaw dropping. "Garak?"

"He not only went disguised as one, he nearly joined the order before,  
well..." Dr. Okuna allowed his voice to trail off.

Julian smiled knowingly. "You only transferred in a few weeks before  
the Founder stole my identity, doctor, so I can't really hold your  
naiveté of Mr. Garak against you. I assure you, if Garak gave you or  
anyone else the impression he had found religion, it was because he  
was working an angle. Either that or he was trying to secure the  
tailoring rights to the Temple robes or something."

"Tailoring? Oh, that's right. I forgot Garak used to be a tailor," he  
said with a chuckle.

Bashir frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"He sold the tailoring shop to Ajaz about...well, close to three  
months ago." Okuna shrugged. "After Captain Sisko hired him as a  
full-time consultant and he started the process of joining Starfleet,  
he sold the shop. He had planned on selling it anyway after he thought  
about joining the monastery. Well, that's what he said anyway." Okuna  
looked at him. "I know you and he aren't really - you know..."

"No, we aren't," he said uncomfortably.

"Sorry about that."

"No," Bashir said. "Just finish what you were saying."

Okuna shrugged. "Anyway, I know that the Founder - it's weird thinking  
of him like that - I know he changed the...circumstances of your  
relationship, but I have to tell you that Garak, well, he seemed  
really happy." He looked the other man in the eye. "Garak and I have  
become friends, not friends like the two of you were, I'm sure, but  
I'm glad you'll be here to help him through this."

Julian looked at the younger man in surprise. Before he had left, he  
never would have believed a word of what Okuna was saying, much less  
have ever guessed that he or anyone else on the station would consider  
Garak to be a friend.

But he'd seen it already, hadn't he? Worf actually seemed to somewhat  
trust him, Sisko respected him, and as time progressed he was fairly  
certain he's be seeing similar reactions in other members of the crew  
toward Garak. How had the Founder done it? What did he do to Garak  
that changed him so dramatically?

"So, the two of you became friends, then? Friends or just acquaintances?"

"Somewhere in-between, I'd say." Okuna smiled. "Like I said, we got to  
know each other during that murder investigation and he used to drop  
by the Infirmary a lot to see, well..." He shrugged. "Since then,  
we've been out to dinner a few times, hung out. I even help out every  
once in a while at the Ministry of the Forgotten - you have no idea  
what I'm talking about, do you?" he said, looking at Julian, his face  
flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, like I said, this whole thing  
has kind of knocked me for a loop."

"You're not the only one," Bashir muttered as he moved away from the biobed.

"Well, doc, you're free to go!" Okuna said, then stopped as he caught  
the disapproving look on his superior's face. "Sorry, I meant that  
you're free to go, Dr. Bashir. Sir."

Bashir nodded and headed toward the door.

"Um, Dr. Bashir?"

"Yes, Dr. Okuna?" he asked.

"When Garak wakes up do you want me to comm you?" Okuna looked at him  
uncertainly. "You know, so you can come back to see him?"

"No, that won't be necessary." He walked out the door without looking back.

******

"Fitz, if I was to ask you something you'd give me a straight answer,  
right?" Sisko asked as soon as he and the admiral entered his office.

"You know me, Ben. I'm a straight shooter all the way."

The captain gestured toward one of the plush leather chairs across  
from his desk, then took his own seat. "You've heard of Section 31  
before, haven't you?"

Gilhouly tapped his fingers on Sisko's desk. "I've heard rumors.  
Nothing verifiable."

"Maybe we need to call someone about the allegations the Founder made.  
If this group really exists-"

"Hang on there, Ben!" Gilhouly said, holding up his hand. "I said I've  
heard rumors, and from what I've heard you don't go mentioning these  
people to just anyone."

"If an illegal extremist group is operating within Starfleet, at the  
very least it needs to be reported to Command," Sisko objected.

"Ben, c'mon. You and I both know that if this group exists, and quite  
frankly it probably does, Command already knows all about it." The  
admiral gave him a knowing look. "Frankly, the Romulans have the  
Tal'Shiar, the Cardies have the Obsidian Order, hell, the Klingons  
even have some damn thing called the Order of Kahless. Of course our  
side has some black ops group. Frankly, we're both better off keeping  
our mouths shut about it."

Sisko leaned back in his chair. "I've never known you to run from a fight."

"What fight? As far as I've heard, these guys are on our side,"  
Gilhouly said with a shrug.

"You can't be serious!" he burst out. "They attempted to commit genocide-"

"Against the Founders," Gilhouly shot back. "What of it? Hell, after  
today I'm tempted to blow the little bastards up myself!"

"Fitz-"

"No, Ben," the admiral said, shaking his head. "Before you get all  
high and mighty over this, think about what we're talking about. Think  
of what these people tried to do to Bajor. They weren't even at war  
with them! They would have destroyed an entire planet and murdered -  
what, three billion people? - just to trick the Federation into going  
to war with Cardassia! These are not the kind of beings that listen  
well to reason. Sometimes, my friend, you have to know when to pull  
the trigger."

"I don't believe that," Sisko said. "I won't believe that."

"And that's why you're the captain and I'm the admiral," Gilhouly said  
simply. "But before you get on my ass about holding grudges and such,  
don't forget that I've known you since you were straight out of the  
Academy. I'm pretty sure that when we're sitting around your table  
later, chowing down on some of your daddy's jambalaya, Jean-Luc Picard  
won't be receiving an invitation to swing on by with the Tabasco  
sauce, will he?"

Sisko's face darkened in anger and Gilhouly held up his hands in a  
gesture of peace. "Hey, Ben. I'm not trying to pick a fight. I loved  
Jenny, too. I have to tell you the first time I saw Picard after that,  
I nearly knocked him on his ass." He pinned Sisko with a hard look.  
"The difference is, Picard didn't really kill Jenny, the Borg did, and  
if you saw any of those metal sons-a-bitches you'd be the first man to  
pull that trigger, Hoss. I know you. These Section 31 agents, or  
whoever the hell they are, look at the Founders the same way you look  
at the Borg. If they can take them out in one fell swoop, Prime  
Directive be damned. Personally, I wouldn't be shedding any tears."

Sisko sat back in his chair and picked up his baseball, an uneasy look  
on his face. "This doesn't sit right with me, Fitz."

"Do yourself a favor, Hoss; forget about it." He got up from his chair  
and tilted his head toward the door. "Now, was that line about that  
little redhead bullshit or what? I could use a drink."

"Fine, but the first round is on you," Sisko said, putting down his  
ball and heading out the door.

******


	12. Regroup and Retreat

Epilogue: Regroup and Retreat

******

"And for service above and beyond the call of duty, it is my privilege  
and honor to award you the Federation Medal of Valor." Admiral  
Gilhouly pinned the medal to Dr. Bashir's chest, then moved to Garak  
who was standing beside him.

He looked from the corner of his eye at Captain Sisko and Commander  
Worf, who had each received their medals before him, their faces  
solemn yet glowing with pride...all except for Garak. His face had a  
gray undertone to it, and his shoulders sagged slightly as though the  
weight of the metal the Admiral pinned to his tunic weighed him down.

After the Admiral shook Garak's hand, First Minister Shakaar then  
stepped forward as well. "And to Mr. Elim Garak, on behalf of a  
grateful planet, I award you Bajor's highest honor, the Dailenium  
Eye." He draped a heavy golden cord around Garak's neck to which was  
attached a gold medal in the shape of an eye with an iris made from a  
multi-faceted jewel. "Dailenium is the most precious substance on  
Bajor. Our ancestors believed the Prophets imbued the crystal with  
their mystical strength when they gave us their wisdom in the form of  
the Orbs. The eye symbolizes your wisdom and your courage in the face  
of danger. May the Prophets always watch over you as you have watched  
over our people. You have our eternal thanks."

Garak nodded silently then stepped back, his face impassive and stern  
as though he hadn't even heard what Shakaar had said. It worried the  
doctor.

Since the death of the Founder five days ago, Garak hadn't spoken more  
than a handful of words to anyone, and nothing at all to him. Unless  
it was on official business, Garak did not emerge from his quarters,  
not even for meals. Although technically it was Bashir's job as CMO to  
either offer Garak counseling himself or to refer him to a  
professional counselor, he knew the last thing Garak needed was to be  
forced into contact with him. He'd gone to Sisko and asked him to  
request that a counselor from the Venture speak with Garak, but Sisko  
had instead urged him to give the Cardassian time.

Miles O'Brien came up to him. "Congratulations there! Need some help  
carrying that pile of hardware on yer chest?" he cried, pounding him  
joyously on the back.

He looked at his friend and smiled, pushing thoughts of Garak out of  
his mind for a while. "I think I can handle it, Chief."

"Well, you look skinnier than a phaser beam! Those Hadar sure didn't  
feed you, did they?" Miles pulled Julian toward their group of  
co-workers. "Good thing Keiko's laid down the law: you're coming over  
tonight for dinner whether you want to or not. You haven't even seen  
Yoshi yet, have you? Lemme tell you, he's a chip off the old block!"

As he allowed himself to absorb the warmth and praises of his friends  
and colleagues, he couldn't help but steal another glance at Garak who  
had wandered over to speak in low tones with Vedek Merel. It made him  
feel better to know that at least the Cardassian had her to rely on  
for support and friendship. Perhaps, when this was all behind them, he  
would ask Garak out to dinner or just to talk. But only when it was  
appropriate.

******

Garak took a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters, then  
stepped over to Merel Atina. When he was close enough to her, he  
smiled politely and in a low tone asked, "Is it done?"

She looked pointedly at Shakaar; Garak examined the man  
surreptitiously as he locked eyes with the Vedek for just a moment and  
nodded slightly.

"It's done," she said simply.

"Are you sure he'll go through with it?" he asked, sipping the sweet,  
effervescent wine.

"Shakaar Edon has many faults, but he knows where his loyalties lie,"  
Merel said, her coolly spoken words greatly at odds with her pleasant  
expression.

Garak's eyes met hers. "You told him."

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

"And he believed you? How much does he know?"

"Enough," was all she said.

Garak's face hardened for a moment, then he sighed, feeling as if he  
had aged ten years in that one breath. "I suppose it doesn't matter  
any more, does it? I'm damned anyway; trading on the souls of the dead  
is the least of my sins at this point."

Merel looked at him sharply. "You have done nothing of the kind, and  
if I ever hear you say that again-"

"I'm sorry." Garak rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I didn't  
mean to upset you."

"Garak, I'm not worried about me. What worries me is-"

"Mr. Garak! You're out of uniform, aren't you?"

Merel and Garak both looked up to see Sisko, Major Kira, and Admiral  
Gilhouly approaching them. Garak smiled pleasantly and said, "I'm  
afraid not, Admiral. Technically, when you saw me in uniform the other  
day I was only impersonating a Starfleet officer."

"Not any more," Sisko said as he handed him a slim, gray box. He  
opened it and held it out to the Cardassian who accepted it numbly.  
Inside was a gold set of full Lieutenant's pips. "Congratulations,  
Lieutenant, it's official. Welcome to Starfleet."

"I never thought I'd be happy to say this, Garak, but welcome to the  
team - officially," the major said, saluting him with her glass.

First Minister Shakaar, Commander Worf, and Dr. Bashir all wandered  
over to see what was happening. Garak stared into the box silently.

"I look forward to having you on the tactical team, Lieutenant," Worf  
said briskly. "You and I have much work ahead of us."

"Now hold on, Commander," the Admiral said with a broad grin. "My  
tactical officer is fixing to take off on me. He's got a promotion  
coming up and I was thinking that Mr. Garak might feel like stretching  
his legs a little. Ben says you're a real find, and since the Ulysses  
is going to be docked here until we get this Founder situation under  
control you can still work with your team here, and when the time  
comes you can come along to wherever our next assignment takes us." He  
chuckled. "I guarantee we'll keep it interesting for you."

"It's a good offer, Garak," Sisko said. "I know that things here have  
been...difficult lately, but perhaps a change of scene might help."

"Captain..." the doctor started, but Garak cut him off.

"I very much appreciate the offer, Admiral, but I must decline," Garak  
said, looking up at the two officers.

Gilhouly nodded while Sisko's smile broadened. "Well, Ben, it was  
worth a shot," he said, clapping the captain on the shoulder heartily.  
"Guess I'm going to have to steal my man from someone else's crew."

"To tell you the truth, I was a little nervous when you suggested it.  
Things have been so dull here for the last few days that I was afraid  
Mr. Garak was getting sick of us," Sisko grinned.

"What about you, Mr. Worf? Picard says good things about you. Feel  
like kissing this tin wheel goodbye and heading off to deep space  
again?" Gilhouly asked.

Worf's eyes flickered across the room to Jadzia and he said, "I'm  
afraid I must decline as well, Admiral."

Gilhouly followed his gaze and rocked back on his heels. "I can't  
think of a better reason to stay than that, Commander. She's a fine  
looking lady. A hell of a lot better looking than Curzon was, let me  
tell you."

He and Sisko shared a grin then the captain said, "After the  
reception, I need you to get into uniform, Lieutenant. You and Mr.  
Worf have some transmissions to look over that the Venture picked up  
on while they were doing a sensor sweep near our listening post this  
afternoon. The Founders aren't likely to give up with just one failure  
behind them. Plus, Dukat appears to have switched sides again. Right  
before the attack by the Founder, we received reports that his ship  
dropped all communications with us and headed toward Cardassia-"

"I'm afraid I won't be able to do that, Captain," Garak said quietly  
but firmly. "And I can't accept the commission you're offering."

"Excuse me?" Sisko asked in surprise.

All eyes turned to Garak who placed the box down on a table loaded  
down with appetizers beside him. "I'm leaving the station, sir. I'm  
sorry."

Sisko's face went still. "I think we'd best go step in my office. This  
discussion would be better served in private. If you will excuse us,  
First Minister, Vedek."

"I'm afraid that I can't allow you to speak with Mr. Garak alone,  
Captain," Shakaar said, moving to stand to the other side of Garak and  
Merel. "Mr. Garak is a Bajoran citizen and one of our top military  
assets now."

"Shakaar-" Kira burst out in surprise.

"Since when?" Sisko burst out, his patience at an end. He gestured  
toward his office. "Fine! I think we'd best all retire to the  
conference room where we can discuss this in relative privacy."

******

Julian followed the group into the conference room. A few people at  
the party looked on in curiosity but turned back, likely assuming the  
group needed to meet for official business.

When Sisko and Gilhouly approached Garak with the idea of leaving the  
station and accepting a posting elsewhere, Bashir had felt sick to his  
stomach. It was as though they were shutting the door on his ever  
being able to salvage any part of his friendship with Garak. It was  
odd: before the Admiral offered to give him the position of tactical  
officer aboard the Ulysses, Julian already felt himself pulling even  
further away from the Cardassian. He still had some unresolved issues  
from the final confrontation between Garak and the Founder and he  
wasn't sure how to process them as of yet, but he knew if he were to  
ever find closure he needed Garak here. Perhaps it was selfish, but it  
was what it was. When Garak had refused, he had felt oddly  
light-headed and happy as though his friend had chosen to stay just  
for him.

His friend, he thought. Even if Garak hated him at that moment, Bashir  
still considered the Cardassian his friend.

But Garak's refusal had infuriated Bashir. He wasn't angry at Garak,  
though; it was Sisko's fault. He had warned the captain that Garak was  
on the razor's edge but the man had refused to listen. So, as Sisko,  
Gilhouly, Garak, and the Bajorans filed into the conference room,  
Julian followed. Until someone told him specifically to leave, he was  
determined to make sure Garak stayed and got the help he obviously  
needed.

As everyone settled in, Sisko turned his fiery gaze first on Garak  
then on the First Minister. "Explain to me exactly what is going on  
here. Since when has Garak ever been a member of the Bajoran Militia,  
much less a citizen of your planet?"

"Mr. Garak has been a political exile to Bajor for the last seven  
years." Shakaar said. "He is a citizen of our world and one of our  
most important tactical assets against the Founders and the  
Cardassians. As such, the Federation's claim on him is improper."

Sisko pinned the First Minister with a stormy gaze. "What kind of game  
are you playing at, Shakaar? Garak has only been on this station for  
five and a half years! He was half beaten to death and lying in a  
biobed when Starfleet found him after taking over the station!" His  
voice rose dangerously. "If you will recall, I had to wrangle with  
your government back then to see to it that Garak wasn't turned back  
over to a hostile foreign power. I had to arrange for his sanctuary on  
this station. Your own military made it clear that as soon as Bajor  
was able to sustain the integrity and safety of this installation, Mr.  
Garak would no longer be welcome here. Do you deny that?"

"The officials in charge then were not fully aware of the situation,"  
Shakaar replied calmly, "nor were they aware how valuable Mr. Garak  
would become to the future and safety of Bajor. In recognition to his  
position as a recipient of our highest civilian honor and for his  
sacrifices in the protection of Bajoran interests both past and  
present, I have granted Mr. Garak full citizenship and he has  
accepted."

"You're making a mistake, First Minister," Gilhouly said in a low  
voice from his chair beside Sisko's. "Bajor is on the fast track to  
becoming a Federation world, with all the rewards and responsibilities  
that come with being such. Taking Garak off of this station is a grave  
tactical error, not only in the war effort but for any diplomatic  
venues you hope to continue to explore with the United Federation of  
Planets."

"Do you really want to risk an interplanetary incident along with Mr.  
Garak's life over some political power play in the eleventh hour?"  
Sisko asked.

"I will continue to strive to bring understanding between our  
governments, gentlemen, but Mr. Garak is coming with me to Bajor."  
Shakaar's voice would brook no further argument.

"You're going to risk everything for a Cardassian?" Kira burst out.  
"Garak has done us a great service, yes, but he's still not one of  
us!"

"We take care of our own, Nerys. You know that." Shakaar pinned her  
with an icy gaze, his voice filled with unspoken meaning.

Kira looked at him in confusion, then her eyes widened and she looked  
at Garak again as if suddenly seeing him for the first time. She  
looked back at Shakaar, questioning him silently, obviously not liking  
what his still, cold expression was telling her. She started to say  
something but instead just bit her lip and fell back in her chair, her  
face pale and her manner unsettled.

"What the hell does that mean, 'we take care of our own'? Will  
somebody please explain to me what I have missed?" Sisko said tersely.

"What it means isn't pertinent to the discussion at hand," Shakaar  
answered him, his gaze hard. "Garak is returning to Bajor on my ship.  
He will be made available to your team as a consultant, but for the  
time being he will remain on Bajoran soil."

"And as you said, this is a Bajoran station under Federation control.  
It is a matter of Federation security as well as policy that Mr. Garak  
remain in protective custody so that he and our assets may be  
protected," Gilhouly said. "He can keep his Bajoran citizenship and  
you can have your political leverage, whatever good it does you, but  
he will do so in a Federation brig if that's what it takes to keep him  
from being assassinated by some shapeshifter bearing a grudge."

Shakaar touched his comm badge and said, "Enter."

The doors opened and two Bajoran security officers entered the room,  
their faces tense as they awaited Shakaar's orders. "You're right,  
Admiral," the First Minister said coolly to Gilhouly. "This is a  
Bajoran station. Whether it is truly under Federation control,  
however, is debatable."

Worf began to rise from his chair and a deadly tension filled the  
room. Julian felt the blood rush in his ears as the situation began to  
escalate. Of all the strange twists and turns his life had taken  
recently, this was by far the strangest. He was actually witnessing a  
showdown over Elim Garak between his captain, one of the Federation's  
most feared and respected Admirals, and Shakaar Edon, First Minister  
of Bajor.

Once again, he stepped through the looking glass and felt the world  
topple into itself.

"Major?" Sisko said quietly, his eyes locked onto Shakaar. "Do you  
have anything you would like to add?"

Kira looked up at him, her face pale and solemn. "No, sir. The First  
Minister has said everything that needs to be said. This is a Bajoran  
station."

Sisko looked at her in shock. His mouth tightened into a thin line.

"If I may speak?" Garak said, his voice cutting through the void that  
had been left in the wake of the major's statement.

"That would be a good idea I believe, especially since your sudden  
change of heart is at the core of all this," Sisko said roughly, anger  
making his skin darken and his eyes flash dangerously.

"I realize that my tactical skills in code-breaking are critical in  
protecting this station should there be further hostile overtures by  
the Cardassian fleet or by the Founders, and I fully intend to see my  
responsibilities to this station through," Garak said. "I will no  
longer be able to do so from Deep Space Nine, however. First Minister  
Shakaar has agreed to assign to me body guards from the Bajoran  
Militia to see to my safety and Vedek Merel has granted me sanctuary  
in one of her monasteries." He held up a hand to forestall an outburst  
from the captain. "I know that sending transmissions via subspace to  
and from Bajor would be a security risk so I would suggest you assign  
a liaison from your staff to aid me in my work. I have someone in mind  
for the position if that would be acceptable to you."

Bashir sat up straighter his chair. Although Garak wasn't looking at  
him, he suspected he knew who the Cardassian would choose. The  
question was, did he really want to spend that much time alone with  
him outside of the safety of their routine on the station?

"If it would be acceptable to you to release him from his regular  
duties in the Infirmary, I'm sure the children of the orphanage could  
benefit from his regular presence there as well, but only if he would  
be amenable to the assignment."

Julian held his breath as his mind reeled. Perhaps Garak intended to  
try to pursue a relationship with him after all? He decided instantly  
that he would agree. He wasn't ready to think of Garak in those terms  
yet, but if Garak needed him to help get through this, he wouldn't  
refuse. He almost opened his mouth to accept when he heard Garak's  
next words.

"Dr. Okuna was a military pilot before he entered medical school, and  
he has had a surgical rotation in pediatrics, I believe. He's also  
less vital to the station now that you have three ships assigned to  
guarding this sector, each with a full medical staff. I'm sure if Dr.  
Bashir finds himself short-staffed before a replacement can be found,  
a member of their medical team can fill in."

Julian felt as though he had been slapped.

Even Sisko looked shocked. "Dr. Okuna?"

"If you or Dr. Bashir have any objections, I understand," Garak said  
simply. "Another officer would be acceptable as long as his or her  
extended duties will not weaken the integrity of your senior staff."

The Admiral turned to Sisko in an obvious gesture that showed the  
captain it was his show.

Sisko glanced apologetically at Bashir and cleared his throat. "Very  
well; as soon as I have spoken to Dr. Okuna I'll have him go down to  
Bajor with everything you will need. I'll also have the Chief set you  
up with any equipment you may require. Dr. Bashir?"

Suddenly Julian felt a surge of anger and some other emotion he didn't  
wish to identify rip through him. He schooled his features into a hard  
mask. "If Dr. Okuna wants the assignment," he said, "we can make do  
without him."

Garak had a point, he thought: Okuna did have more experience in  
pediatrics than he did, and it would be less disruptive of the senior  
staff to send him. And he didn't really want to be alone in a  
shuttlecraft again any time soon...

But the fact that Garak so obviously didn't want to be around him  
still cut him to the quick.

"I'm afraid that it is getting late and I have a meeting with my  
cabinet on Bajor this evening that I must attend. If you will excuse  
us," Shakaar said, rising from his chair.

Vedek Merel and Garak did the same and the three of them left, the two  
Bajoran guards trailing after. Garak did not say goodbye, nor did he  
ever once look at the doctor.

"Major Kira, if you would please remain behind. There is something I  
wish to discuss with you," Sisko said, pinning her with a hard gaze.  
"As for you gentlemen, feel free to return to the reception. Try to  
salvage something from this evening, if you can."

Julian walked out of the room and immediately got himself another  
drink as soon as he rejoined the reception. He swallowed it quickly  
and immediately reached for another as Worf made a beeline to Dax and  
whispered to her in low tones. She gave him a startled look then took  
his arm, dragging him to the far side of the room and continuing their  
conversation.

At least he wasn't alone in his shock over what had just happened in  
there, he thought as he downed the second glass of champagne. His eyes  
lighted upon the gray box on the table and he picked it up and opened  
it to stare at the gold pips inside.

He fingered them thoughtfully, then stuck them in his pocket before  
heading out of the room.

"Hey, Julian, where are you going?" O'Brien said, ambling toward him.  
"Keiko's expectin' us in a few minutes."

"I was on my way to Quark's," he replied as he stopped outside the  
reception room door. "I need a real drink."

O'Brien frowned at him. "You sure? To be honest you look like hell.  
What were you all doing in the conference room anyway?"

"Nothing. Nothing important anyway." He crossed his arms and looked  
off towards where Garak's tailor shop used to be. "Let's stop for one  
drink and go to your place."

"All right," Miles said, still a little uncertain. "Listen, you want  
to go find Garak? Ask him to join us, maybe? He's been looked a little  
long in the mouth lately, could do with a little cheering up."

He held up a hand. "Please, just...I'd rather not. And to be honest,  
I'd rather not talk about him either."

Miles nodded understandingly as he clapped Julian on the shoulder. "In  
that case, let me tell you about my son."

As O'Brien described the boy (who was apparently well on his way to  
being a prodigy at the ripe old age of three weeks), Bashir thought  
back on the past week. He'd come so close to losing everything...

...but then again, maybe he already had.

THE END

 

End of the third installment of The Garak/Bashir Mysteries

Next up: Meditations on a Crimson Shadow; A Garak/Bashir Mystery


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